Daddy's Little Girl
by Emrys1
Summary: Kelly Gordon smiled at the end of Grave Danger. Uhhh...NO WAY! IT'S FINISHED!
1. Prologue

Title: Daddy's Little Girl 

Author: Emrys

Rating: I'm going to say for mature audiences since I've got a couple of nasty things planned in later chapters.

Warnings: Language, adult themes in later chapters

Spoilers: Grave Danger, Stalker, Overload, maybe others in later chapters

Summary: Kelly Gordon smiled at the end of Grave Danger.

Disclaimer: CSI and its characters belong to CBS. This is just a bit of fun and speculation. I'm a high school chemistry teacher getting paid peanuts by my school district, so please don't sue me!

Author's Note: I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT PLANTS! Additionally, I live in New York, so the Nevada climate is also an unknown for me. I have spent the past two days doing copious amounts of research on plants that can grow in Las Vegas, but there's a good chance I have and I will make mistakes. I hope that you can all forgive me.

Also, this is the first time in a while that I've decided to post a fic a chapter at a time. Hopefully I won't shoot myself in the proverbial foot by doing this. :)

Any comments and constructed criticism are welcome! No flames please.

Daddy's Little Girl – Part 1

Kelly Gordon breathed in deeply, and the pungent smell of mulch mixed with the cleaner scent of sandy earth wafted across her senses. She surveyed her expansive garden from where she knelt beside a row of tomato plants and grinned happily at the lushness of the greenery around her. In the harsh Las Vegas climate, maintaining a garden was difficult, but she was a hard worker and understood the earth and plant life well enough to have met with success where others would surely have failed.

She stood up slowly and began walking the perimeter of her property while absently brushing away loose cedar chips and soil from her pant legs. Looking up at her small, but perfect house, she allowed her grin to broaden into a genuine smile. Despite his failings, her father had provided well for her. So well, in fact, that she had managed to pay for this house in cash upon her release from prison.

At the thought of that _place_, Kelly's smile faltered a bit. Unconsciously, she rubbed her desecrated left hand with her right and stumbled. Aggravated with herself for allowing her good mood to become weighed down by useless thoughts of her past, Kelly forced herself to walk quickly past new blooms of purple oleander and the last vestiges of the scarlet vinca flowers that had blossomed so nicely in the spring. With relief, she placed a hand on the bark of her small peach tree and managed to find her smile again.

And really, she did have a lot to smile about. She had been released from her nightmare a year earlier than expected due to her good behavior. Additionally, her year's probation had just ended yesterday. Today was her first day away from prying eyes, suspicious questions, and legal requirements.

Kelly was pleased by the peach tree's progress. As expected, it had taken a full year before the tree would produce fruit, and this was the first time that golden orbs dangled between the woody branches. The peaches were small, but that was to be expected. Besides, she wasn't really all that interested in the fruit.

She sat down beneath the low branches of the tree and stared up into the hazy Nevada sky. It was going to be hot today, she realized. Then again, it was early summer in Las Vegas, and heat was to be expected. But the morning was not yet hot, only pleasantly warm, and Kelly allowed herself some time to relax beside her favorite plant. This tree. This wonderful tree that was going to be her salvation, her soul's true freedom.

She remembered his face on that day that he had come to visit her. It had been a beautiful face, marred only by tears and grief. She remembered seeing her own reflection swimming on the Plexiglas between them, transposed over his. She remembered thinking that they both had a lot in common.

"Don't take it with you."

The words, spoken in his tight and broken voice, had haunted her throughout the remainder of her prison sentence; haunted her even now.

At the time of their first utterance, she had wanted to smash through the Plexiglas divider and scratch his eyes out so that he would no longer be able to look at her with that grief-stricken yet condescending expression. She had wanted to pull his tongue from his throat so that he would know that not only did he not have the right to tell her how to feel, how to think, but that he never would be able to do it again.

Instead, she had somehow found the strength to look at him unhappily and ask him if he was done. She hadn't been able to keep her voice calm; in fact, had hated the tremulous quality to it. But she had succeeded in ending the conversation before allowing her rushing thoughts to get the better of her. Distracted by the pounding realizations and the barely contained ideas that had been swimming through her mind, she had barely acknowledged the walk back to her prison cell.

She had a face! A face and a person to blame for her awful journey through hell. At the time, she hadn't cared to recall, but later, after careful research and study, she had placed a name to the face.

Nicholas Stokes.

The small part of her that remained sane knew that blaming this sole man for her bad experiences was actually insane. But she rationalized her doubts of punishing this man for his crime, by telling herself that she would also be justly punishing others. She had read the newspapers of the events that had been precipitated by her father's attempt at retribution for her and had observed in grainy photographs the obvious looks of anguish and disbelief on the faces of the crime scene and police investigators. Had seen that same look of anguish reflected in the eyes of that bitch who had come to the prison with her unflappable cop friend to ask stupid and meaningless questions.

Kelly Gordon wrapped a small arm around the trunk of her most precious possession and breathed deeply.

It would all end soon.


	2. Chapter 1

Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 1 

Nick Stokes stumbled sleepily out of his bedroom while pulling a t-shirt down over his head. After yawning loudly, he walked to the front porch, gathered up the newspaper and stretched with no hint of self-consciousness.

The late afternoon sun blinded him momentarily as he surveyed the neighborhood, and he shaded his eyes against it with his right hand. The neighboring houses bustled with activity as industrious parents returned home from their day-jobs and were greeted by their various children, canines, and felines. Given that his restoration to the graveyard shift forced him to maintain a schedule opposed to those practiced by people in other households, Nick idly wondered what the neighbors thought of him. He wondered if the children thought that he was some sort of blood-sucking vampire awake and active only during the gloomiest and darkest hours of the night.

Almost as if in response to his self-dialogue, the Hanson's youngest girl smiled brightly and waved enthusiastically at him. Nick chuckled in amusement and raised his hand in greeting before returning to the inside confines of his house.

He tossed the newspaper on the kitchen table and set up the coffee pot to brew. Nick then grabbed a cup from a cabinet and sat at the table to read the paper while he waited for the coffee.

Despite the fact that it was his day off, Nick preserved his workday sleeping schedule. It was just too difficult to recover his equilibrium once he returned to the job if he didn't keep to the routine. Besides, work had been hectic for the past month, and; consequently, he had been taking only a single day off at a time. Going off schedule would be physically difficult under these circumstances, and anyway, he didn't mind. Tumultuous events in his recent past had shaped him into a man that had grown to relish the little order he had in his life.

Having no real plans for the evening other than to relax and enjoy his own company, Nick took his time while making his 'breakfast.' Being buried alive had also turned him into a man who appreciated a relatively solitary life-style. It wasn't as if he avoided social contact, but he felt more in control when alone.

There were other lingering effects to his traumatic experience, but he had learned how to manage them. Had; in fact; almost finished accepting them as part of a life that had been irrevocably changed since that horrific event. He was doing okay. Life was just fine and getting better with each day.

Nick sipped his coffee contentedly while he perused the paper. A story on the front page made him frown involuntarily. Somehow, information on a current investigation had reached the ears of a local reporter, and the paper had sensationalized it to the point that it took Nick a moment to remember who the case belonged to. When he realized that it was one of Grissom's cases, Nick's frown deepened. Gris wasn't going to be happy about this, he thought and decided to call his colleague to find out what had happened.

After talking to a frustrated Grissom for approximately half an hour, Nick decided to take an extended run through the park to relieve his own developing frustration for the idiotic thoughtlessness of the press.

It was during his run when the virtual serenity that had been blessing him all day began to ebb.

A headache plagued him about an hour into it, and the pain eventually became so bothersome that he chose to quit the run and return home early. Disappointed and wondering whether or not he was coming down with something, Nick decided to take a shower. And that's when the headache became overwhelming and combined with dizziness in an attempt to thwart him from continuing on with his day.

Nick cursed as he staggered out of the shower and dressed in sweats and a comfortable t-shirt. He'd be damned if he was going to spend his only day off by lying around in bed. Still muttering angry curses, Nick dragged himself into the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee. He had made it exceptionally strong, and knew that, along with a handful of ibuprofen, the caffeine-loaded beverage would help defeat the headache. The coffee was, thankfully, still slightly warm, so he was even able to take some pleasure in the taste of the brew. He moved into the living room to wait for the easing effects of the caffeine and ibuprofen to hit him when nausea and abdominal cramps assaulted him.

The sudden intensity of the pain startled him, and he dropped the half full coffee cup. Leaving the mess on the floor, he stumbled back into the bathroom and immediately vomited violently into the toilet. Weak and trembling after he was finished, Nick decided ruefully that a day in bed now sounded like a good thing.

But once he made it to his room, sleep eluded him. The nausea and abdominal pain were relentless, and he simply could not rest. After several hours of this agony, he finally decided to call someone, maybe Catherine, to help him out. Unfortunately, he had left the phone all the way in the kitchen during his earlier conversation with Grissom.

Sighing deeply, and fighting back the nausea and dizziness that threatened to send him careening to the floor, Nick struggled out of the bed. It was full dark now, but his reserves were so low that he didn't even take the chance of presuming that he had the time to turn on the lights. Halfway across his journey through the pitch-black room, the abdominal cramping hit him harder, and he seriously considered crawling the rest of his way to the kitchen.

In fact, he was almost to his knees when a shadowed figure suddenly loomed in front of him. As he cried out, something was pressed into his face and his weak exclamations were quashed. The pungent scent of something nauseating and vaguely reminiscent of panic and terror overwhelmed his senses, and he lost his fragile grasp on consciousness.

FYI: I have to go away for three days, so I'm sorry for leaving you with this cliffhanger. But the good news is that I've figured out the entire plot (practically line for line), so I'll be able to update regularly after my return.

Thank you for all of your comments and feedback! They do wonders for my limited creativity!


	3. Chapter 2

Daddy's Little Girl – Part 2

Encumbered with lethargy, Nick regained consciousness slowly. Uneasiness and the beginnings of panic settled in at the distantly familiar burn he felt in his throat and lungs, and he struggled to sit up. When his efforts met resistance, Nick's eyes instantly opened and his harsh breathing quickened as a full-fledged panic attack began to take him over.

He was unable to regain control when he observed that numerous ropes binding his arms legs and chest restrained him from any real concerted movement. His right arm was outstretched, and an IV line ran into the main vein on the inside of his elbow. He felt a scream begin to develop at the sight of this violation, but he held it back and closed his eyes again.

He had to regain control, he realized as he felt himself begin to dissociate from his surroundings. He knew from his sessions with his therapist that dissociation was a bad sign. If he didn't settle down, he wouldn't be able to help himself out of this mess.

It was difficult, but he was able to slow his breathing down after a while. Moments later, his thoughts also stopped racing, and he was able to open his eyes again to take stock of his situation.

He was tied to a cot of some sort, and the IV continued to drip slowly into his right arm. His body ached abominably, but he supposed that this was from his illness. The good news was that the nausea and pain that he remembered assailing him before had now eased a bit. But when he saw that he was in a small room that was only dimly lit, Nick's control slipped again. Where the hell was he, and what in _god's name_ was in that IV?

He had just begun struggling to release his right arm, when movement at his feet forestalled any further action on his part.

"Stop it," an almost recognizable, female voice commanded from the dark. "They're just fluids to keep you from dehydrating. You've been sick, and you need them."

"Wha…What?" he asked shakily.

Abrupt, giddy laughter was his only response, and his confusion deepened.

"I don't understand!" he yelled. His voice broke at the end of his shout, and the giggling increased in volume.

As suddenly as the laughter had started, it now ended. Nick studied the shadows as best as he could from his compromised position, but could see no one in the dim light.

"I don't understand," he mumbled again, closing his eyes.

"You don't have to," the unexpected response came from directly above him, and Nick quickly opened his eyes.

Kelly Gordon's fanatically smiling face floated over him, and he immediately attempted to scramble away from her presence. He understood at once that she was the cause for his current discomfort, and possible reasons for her actions coursed through his mind. Frightened by his thoughts and by his situation, he struggled to physically escape them. But his actions were frustrated by the bindings holding him down, and Nick's panic only succeeded in forcing his head to whip about wildly. His hands clenched and unclenched involuntarily, and the scream that he had barely been keeping at bay since he had awoken suddenly burst from him.

"How're you doin' there, Nick?" Kelly asked loudly. After eliciting no response from the frightened man other than additional terrified screams, the woman shrugged. "So impolite," she said with a smile. "But I won't take offense."

Her smile suddenly faltered, and she gazed angrily at Nick who had now begun yelling for help. "But then again, maybe I will," she said coldly. She then reached down, and slapped Nick hard across his mouth. "STOP YELLING!" she screamed and then quietly added, "It's rude."

Shocked by the taste blood in his mouth, Nick ceased calling for help.

"What do you want?" he asked her with fear lacing his words.

She smiled pleasantly again, and Nick knew with total certainty that the woman was completely insane. His body trembled in sudden reaction to his advancing anxiety, and he felt sweat develop on his forehead.

"Why don't you have a drink, Nicky?" she asked, solicitously.

"What?" he asked. But instead of an answer, he felt his head pushed down into the cushion of the cot by a hand that suddenly grasped his nose. Frightened and confused, he opened his mouth to breathe and had no choice but to swallow or drown in the sickly bittersweet fluid that was abruptly forced into his mouth.

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Kelly looked down in satisfaction at her now slightly dazed captive. She was so pleased with the way things were going. Everything according to plan. She moved to Nick's right hand and removed the IV line. She hadn't lied to him about it; the IV bag had only been filled with fluids that would replenish those he had lost during the bouts of vomit that the solanine poisoning had initiated in him.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of how messy that part had been. She had been prepared for his illness, but the sheer intensity of his sickness had alarmed her at first. After a few hours and another couple of doses of ether later; however, the man had begun to recover sufficiently enough for her to commence with the next phase of her plan.

She smiled at the thought of how thrilling it had been to dose him with the ether. It had started out as a practical way of keeping him quiet until the solanine worked its way through his system, but the hazy, not-yet-conscious look in his eyes had been delicious to quench. So delicious, in fact, that after using the compound the first time, she had been unable to keep from trying it again.

"What…what did you…give…" Nick attempted to voice a question, and she turned her attention to him.

"Crushed morning glory seeds in juice," she answered his incomplete question matter-of-factly.

"What?" he asked, blankly.

"Morning glory seeds. They're hallucinogenic. Might make you a bit ill again, but do me a favor and don't throw them up. I'm all out of IV fluids, and you don't want to dehydrate any further, believe me."

"Hallucin…ogenic?" Nick's weak voice stuttered in fear.

"Oh yes. You know, Nick I've really been looking forward to this part. I have the idea that this part's going to be a lot of fun. And if you just relax and enjoy the ride, maybe it will be fun for you too."

"Don't touch me!" Nick forcefully said, as the concentrated drug unexpectedly took effect. Kelly's words echoed through his mind with resounding force, and reality began to sink away from him. Suddenly he was nine years old again, and another stranger was touching him and assuring him that a different kind of ride was going to be fun for him too.

Kelly turned her full attention to Nick as she sensed something else increasing the panic behind his eyes. Despite her insanity, she was a smart and perceptive woman. She had learned a lot about Nick during her year of research, but maybe there was something here that she had missed.

She smiled and languidly stroked Nick's arms. She delighted in the effect her touch had on him, and she broadened the range of her movements to his neck, his legs, and his torso. All the while, Nick strained away from her light touch, and gazed at her with eyes that were seeing a different, but equally horrific scene.

"Please, don't," he begged, and pressed his face as far as it would go into the cot cushion.

"Awww, c'mon, Nicky. It'll be fun. Don't you want to have some fun?" Kelly whispered, and then moved her hand down to his groin.

He screamed and screamed.


	4. Chapter 3

**Okay, before you read this fic any further, I need to warn you all that the end of this chapter is pretty raw and awful for Nick. I don't usually go quite this far in my fics, and I have to admit that I'm a little alarmed that I wrote this. But, honestly, I can't see how the Kelly that I've written wouldn't take control like this if she even had an inkling of an idea that Nick had been abused as a child…especially given her experiences in prison.**

Despite all of that rationalization and despite the fact that there is nothing explicit written here, I've still managed to twist my own innards in knots. Even so I'm going to post this, because it has to be part of the story.

**I want to make it very clear that I don't intend to offend anyone…I'm just whumping our Nicky quite a bit.**

**You have been warned!**

**Emrys**

**P.S. Thanks for all of your reviews! They keep me going!**

**P.P.S. I have no idea how the lab will be organized in the next season, and I refuse to read spoilers. This is just my guess…besides, it works well for my plot.** Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 3 

Gil Grissom sat at his desk and tried to concentrate on the case report in front of him. After a few minutes of being unsuccessful in this task, he sat back in his chair, took his glasses off, and tossed them onto his desk. Stretching his legs out, his face took on the expression of someone trying to sort out a particularly complicated puzzle.

An hour ago, he had only been feeling mild annoyance at the absence of one of his investigators. It had started when he had been about to hand out the evening's assignments and had noticed the obvious lack of Nick's presence.

"Anyone know where Nick is?" he had asked his team. He remembered frowning unhappily at the shrugs, headshakes, and faintly blank stares that the others had given him in response to his question and which indicated that they were also in the dark about the other investigator's whereabouts.

Grissom had handed out the assignments despite his unanswered query and despite the irritation he experienced from Nick's uncharacteristic lack of professionalism. He had decided that upon the tardy man's arrival, he would have a talk with Nick about his expectations. But that decision had been made an hour ago, and there still was no sign of the man.

After calling Nick's house and receiving no answer, Grissom was now beginning to experience bouts of true worry. It was unlike Nick to be late without notifying him, and Grissom additionally had to admit that the man was rarely ever late anyway. The man was actually one of the most reliable members of his staff.

All of these suppositions led Grissom to a single, unwelcome question.

What if something had happened to Nick again?

Grissom considered the question for a moment more and couldn't help but think about those horrible events that had occurred two years ago. Trouble seemed to find Nick so easily; what if it had found him again?

Graves, guns, stalkers. What next?

Grissom made a decision, and grabbed his glasses, cell phone and car keys. Leaving a shift to check on a co-worker was a choice that he wouldn't have made two years ago, but Gil had changed since pulling Nicky from the ant infested ground on that awful night. He had learned that there were some things more important than detachment and stark professionalism, and he now refused to chastise himself for his current over-protectiveness and disregard for supervisory responsibilities. Besides, it was a slow night, his other CSI's had their cases well in hand, and his own active case could wait an hour or so.

Walking hurriedly to the exit, he literally bumped into Catherine.

"Gil, what's…."

He didn't give her a chance to finish her question.

"Catherine, have you seen Nicky?"

"No. Why what's the matter?" Catherine's initial irritation at being run over by the night shift supervisor melted away when she sensed his concern.

"He didn't show up for his shift tonight, and no one seems to have heard from him. I'm a little worried, so I was just going to go over to his place to see if he was okay."

The fact that Grissom was concerned enough to check on the other man had immediately set alarm bells going off in Catherine's head. Her heart lurched in her chest at the thought that something might again be wrong with Nick, and she felt her hands tighten into fists. Despite the fact that she had stayed late to catch up on some paperwork that she still hadn't manage to finish, Catherine felt an urgent need to leave with the other CSI and check up on her friend.

"Lindsey's at a sleepover. Mind if I tag along?" she asked as casually as possible since she didn't want to worry Grissom any more than he already was. But all it took was a quick study of her posture by the man, and Catherine knew that he had sensed her concern. She shrugged in response. "Okay, so I'm worried," she admitted.

Grissom nodded. "Me too," he stated simply. "Let's take my car."

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His awareness was complicated by the discordant screams he heard coming from somewhere behind him. The shrieking distracted him badly, because he wasn't sure if it was real or not. When one of the voices suddenly yelled his own name into his left ear, he decided that the noise had to be real. Nothing he had ever heard before sounded like that, so it couldn't be coming from his mind.

Real, definitely real.

His teeth chattered painfully as bright, colored lights sickeningly warped his vision. Nausea overwhelmed him, and he was forced to turn his head when he abruptly vomited. Even so, he almost choked on the vile fluids, and a voice laughed and whispered eerie, incomprehensible words into his ears in response to his abysmal condition.

How could that noise be real? It just wasn't possible, was it? Not real, not real, not real.

Violent tremors assailed him, and he attempted to see past his disorientation to determine his condition. It was a difficult task, but he eventually managed to conclude that his chattering teeth and muscular trembling were in response to the chill air of the room. He was still tied up, but somehow his clothes had been taken from him, and the cold air relentlessly stole the heat from his body.

"Shamed! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

The words floated around his head, and tears leaked from his eyes in reaction to them.

"Real, real, real, real, real," he whispered, yet he was unaware that he spoke the words out loud.

Those voices had to be real, because he _should_ be ashamed of himself, shouldn't he? The voices were telling the truth, and that made them real.

Didn't it?

Where were his clothes? And why did he feel so ashamed? He was supposed to be ashamed, because the voices were telling him the truth. But he didn't remember what he had to be ashamed about.

Nick concentrated harder, and made a strenuous effort to ignore the demonic name-calling that a sing-songy voice was now directing at him. Disjointed images flashed through his mind, and despite his debilitation, he managed to piece together what had happened to him.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," he muttered as he wept bitterly at the realization that battered him. His mind practically shattered with the weight of his guilt, and he had the unsettling feeling that he was no longer alive. How could he still be alive when he felt such pain?

After a moment, his thoughts merged to crystal clarity, and he understood with complete conviction that if he was still alive, he would not be able to recover from this. And so, he eagerly accepted that he was not, in fact, living anymore.

This was hell. This was his own personal hell.

"Hell, I'm in hell," Nick groaned, and laughed crazily at his joke before squeezing his eyes shut at the abhorrence of it all.

"That's right, Nicky," a voice said from above him, "this is your hell, because I'm going to do to you all of the things that were done to me. And then some. Life's about power, and right now, I've got it all."

Nick's initial response was to laugh at the substantial intonation of the voice that made apparent the unreality of the previous voices he had heard. This voice was real, and he wondered how he could have so easily mixed up the real and the imagined.

Then Nick opened his eyes and saw Kelly Gordon hovering over him again. She smiled broadly and reached out to feel him again with her loathsome touch. Absolute disgust and helplessness twisted in his gut, and he felt the urgent need to vomit again. He coughed and gagged, but nothing came up, and she only laughed cruelly at his discomfort.

"It's been a while since I've enjoyed myself quite this much, Nick. In prison, I never got a choice in the matter. I was always forced to have sex with my cellmate whether I wanted to or not. It's sort of nice being able to make that decision now. Do you know what I mean? It's just that right now I can make the decision to have another go with you or not. Do you have any idea how absolutely wonderful it is to be in such control again?"

Nick stared at her in horror as the implications of her words hit him hard. She was planning on hurting him again.

Not again, not again, not again, he begged, but was too mixed-up to establish whether he had actually vocalized his thoughts or not.

"Yes, I think, again, Nick. But not yet. Maybe later, after you've had another drink," she responded thoughtfully.

Being so weak and incoherent, Nick had little choice in the matter when his head was again pushed back and the bittersweet concoction of juice and morning glory seeds was forced down his throat. With the return of the hated drug, the imagined voices disappeared. Only his own voice traveled through the depths of his mind, and it brought with it the words of his only hope and of his complete despair.

I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. I have to be dead.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey Everyone!**

**Again, thanks so much for all of your kind reviews! They continue to fuel my desire to write this fic!**

**I hope that you enjoy the next section.**

**Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!**

**Emrys**

Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 4 

After Grissom rang the doorbell twice and knocked on Nick's front door several more times than that, Catherine began rummaging around in her purse. Grissom observed her calmly, but silently wondered about her actions. She was becoming increasingly agitated and mumbling to herself, but Gil understood his co-worker well enough to know that it would be better if he stayed clear of her fiery temper. She would clue him in on her behavior as soon as she saw fit.

"Where is it? I know it's in here somewhere. Where the hell is it?" Catherine continued to mutter. It suddenly occurred to Grissom that Catherine's actions indicated that she might have a key to Nick's house, and his hypothesis was supported when she crowed with triumph and lifted the object of her search from the depths of her purse.

Catherine deftly inserted the key into the deadlock on Nick's door. Looking up at Grissom, she shrugged. "Nicky gave me a spare when I offered to help out around the house after the whole thing with Gordon," she said by way of explanation.

Grissom simply nodded and then followed her into the house. Feeling awkward for entering unannounced, both CSI's remained on the tile in front of the door, and did not enter any further into Nick's home.

"Nick?" Catherine called while Grissom took an observant look around the room.

"Nicky?" Catherine yelled again. She began to take a step into the living room, but Grissom forestalled her by placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Shh, Catherine!" he whispered urgently. "We need to treat this like a crime scene. An _unsecured_ crime scene," he emphasized while directing her out of the house and pulling out his cell phone.

"What? What are you talking about?" Catherine whispered harshly, questioning him, but still following his lead.

"There was a coffee stain on the new rug," Grissom calmly responded while dialing Brass's phone number and walking across the lawn.

"What! Grissom, have you finally gone around the bend?"

Gil's face was serious as he waited for Jim to pick up.

"You know how Nicky's been ever since he got out of the hospital," Grissom prompted.

Catherine considered his claim while leaning up against the car, which they had parked across the street. What Grissom said was true. Nick had kept a well-organized house ever since the ordeal he had undergone that horrible night, and she still worried that he was taking his need for order to unhealthy levels. The fact that the younger man had left spilled coffee on his living room rug was an indication that something could be wrong.

"Well, what if he spilled coffee on the rug, and now he's out at the grocery store renting one of those wet vacs? We can't just call Brass because of a little coffee, Gil," Catherine argued because she simply did not want to give into her fear that something untoward had happened again to Nick.

Grissom shook his head and tapped impatiently on the back of his cell phone as it continued to ring.

"The stain was dry, Catherine," he explained evenly. "Besides…" Grissom pointed to the driveway.

"His car's still here," Catherine whispered as dread settled firmly in the pit of her stomach.

Grissom didn't respond to her. Instead, he cursed quietly and hung up the phone only to begin dialing it again. "Where the hell is Brass?" he asked. His harsh words were the first indication that he had given to show how rattled he was, and Catherine did not take his anxious demeanor lightly.

Reaching for her gun, the female CSI began to traverse the distance between the street and Nick's door.

"Catherine! What are you doing?" Grissom called quietly. His hands tightly gripped the cell phone, and she could see his white knuckles even from the door to Nick's house.

"If there's something wrong with Nicky, I'm not going to sit here doing nothing while we wait for Brass," she explained in a hushed yell.

Grissom cursed as he watched Catherine enter the house. He awkwardly drew his own gun with his one free hand, and kept the other firmly clutched to his cell phone. As he made his way cautiously through Nick's front yard, he was relieved to hear Brass finally pick up the phone line.

"Where the hell have you been?" Grissom spoke angrily into the phone.

"What do you mean?" Brass's gruff, no-nonsense voice transmitted annoyance. "I've been dealing with the press for you for the past…."

"Never mind that," Grissom snapped. "Something's wrong at Nick's house. I need you here right away!"

"Huh? What's wrong with Nicky?" Brass asked now with worry strong in his tone.

"I don't know. Catherine and I just got here, and it looks like someone might have broken in."

"Okay, Gil. I'll be there right away. Just don't go in the house until I get there. The scene isn't secure."

"Too late," Gil replied. He hung up the phone and opened the front door.

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Nick lurched to consciousness with no transition between waking and sleeping. He shivered uncontrollably as both the cold and his nausea assaulted him. Putting a hand to his head in an effort to keep from succumbing to the awful headache he was experiencing, Nick managed to drag himself up into a sitting position.

Since confusion still ruled his senses, it took him a moment to realize that sitting was indicative of a change in his circumstances. Squinting against the colored images that swam in his vision, he was just able to determine that he was no longer tied up. Wary that his aching body could betray him at any moment and send him crashing to the floor, he carefully moved off of the offensive cot and stood up.

Another series of tremors wracked his body, and he felt a general ache in his chest when he realized that he was still naked. Closing his eyes and resting his head in his left hand, he allowed himself just a moment to pull himself together. In spite of the fact that some small survival instinct was pushing him on to find a way out before Kelly came back, he still fought with an insistent need to believe that he was dead.

The warring halves of himself kept him temporarily immobile, and it took precious time for him to gather his reserves and begin to move through the room. Only the intermittent hallucinogenic lights that he perceived punctuated the darkness, and neither condition helped him in his efforts. Fighting his debilitating condition, he managed to determine that the room was small and cluttered with strange equipment. His senses were so bogged down with other concerns though, that he could not ascertain the nature of the contraptions or of their purpose.

Besides, he needed to concentrate. What was _in_ the room wasn't important right now. Getting _out_ was.

He had just managed to explore half of the room's perimeter, when his legs suddenly crumpled beneath him. He sat for a moment dazed and dizzy and fought desperately with the desire to sink into madness.

"Be dead," he involuntarily muttered. "Let me just be dead."

A high titter of laughter heralded either another auditory hallucination or the presence of someone else in the room. He jumped at the sound of it, and scrabbled desperately into one of the corners of the room. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, and he had a moment to wonder if he would possibly, almost welcomingly, die of heart failure before a series of painfully sharp flashes of white light overwhelmed his senses.

He pressed his eyes closed and cried out in response to the raw agony that the lights inflicted upon his hypersensitive eyes. Hiding his head in his hands to protect the susceptible sense organs, he listened distraughtly for the cause of the blinding light. Despite lacking concrete proof, he was convinced that the light had not been a hallucination and had come from some outside source. He strained to hear any sound over his rapid breathing and pounding headache, but he could hear nothing; it seemed as if he was still alone in the room.

Muscles continued to jump in his arms and legs as he again succumbed to the drug that was still coursing through his system. Slowly, his body began to curl into himself, and a small part of him began to worry that he was suffering from shock. But he couldn't find it in himself to care all that much anymore.

He was slumped, half-conscious against the wall when he heard a soft muttering in the direction from which the recent laughter had originated. Regardless of his body's poor condition, he felt his consciousness focus into a pinpoint of white terror when he finally made out the words that were oh so obviously being whispered for his benefit.

"I am one. Who am I?"

888888888888

"Catherine!" Gil whispered as he carefully made his way into the house.

Feeling out of his element, Grissom maintained a firm hold on his gun while he simultaneously studied what he now was convinced to be a crime scene and looked for any sign of Catherine or Nick. He carefully sidestepped the stain on the rug and started to move to the back of the house where he knew Nick's bedroom would be located. He had just noticed that the majority of carpet fibers leading from Nick's bedroom were drawn all in the same direction when Catherine walked out of the kitchen.

Startled, Grissom turned his whole body to face her, and she put both hands up in the air at the sight of his gun pointed dangerously in her direction. Gil took a deep breath, and replaced the sparingly used weapon into its holster when he saw that she was no longer carrying hers.

"There's no one here," Catherine stated agitatedly. "Nick's not here."

Gil just nodded unhappily.

"It looks as if someone dragged a body from out of the bedroom," he noted.

"Oh god," Catherine whispered, barely able to maintain her composure. "A body? What do you mean?"

"Catherine, we're not going to make any assumptions. We have no clear proof that it was Nick who was dragged. Even if it was, I have yet to see evidence showing that he was nothing more than unconscious."

"But we have no proof that he isn't dead either," Catherine's voice was desperate and tight with worry.

"Catherine! No assumptions!" Grissom said forcefully. Catherine nodded shakily, but managed to rein in her strong emotions.

The sight of blue and red flashing lights circling the living room was a welcome one. True to his word, Brass had made it to the house in record time.

"We need to process the scene like we would any other," Gil whispered.

Catherine shuddered at the sudden insight that Grissom's belief in the evidence and objectivity was the only way he knew of keeping Nick alive.

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	6. Chapter 5

**Hi Everyone,**

**Sorry it took me so long to update. I've been a little under the weather. **

**But here's the next part! Hope you all enjoy, and thanks so much for the reviews. I know that I keep saying that, but I really mean it! You guys have been great!**

**Emrys**

**Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 5**

It seemed to Grissom that the entire staff had piled into the conference room. His whole team as well as Catherine's had processed Nick's house in record time, and now the day shift had come in early to help as well. Grissom looked at the people in front of him and observed that they all wore identical expressions. Their faces were tight, their eyes were shiny, and all of their mouths were drawn in bitter lines of anger and distress. Grissom had no doubt that most, if not all of them were recalling the last time they had been placed in a similarly dire situation. Gil's own memories were causing him to expend an inordinate amount of energy trying to keep the terror he felt at bay.

"What have we got?" he asked the teams solemnly.

"Well, I've got something odd," Catherine announced. "Nick's coffee maker and all of his coffee cups have been taken from the house."

"Not so odd," Greg offered. "I just got the results from the lab from that stain. It was mostly coffee, but there were trace amounts of a substance called solanine in it as well."

"Solanine?" Grissom asked.

Greg nodded. "I looked it up. It's a toxin commonly found in green potatoes and other plants. It's dangerous in concentrated amounts," he explained, but at the intake of breaths around him he quickly added: "But since this was a dilute sample, it's pretty certain that if Nick ingested the stuff, he's only pretty sick."

"So you're suggesting that Nick hasn't been killed?" Sara asked.

Greg winced at the bluntness of her question but managed to find his voice and stammer out a response. "All I can say for sure is that if Nick drank the coffee, he's pretty sick. I don't know what could have happened afterwards," he revealed carefully.

The room was quiet for a moment as the implications of Greg's words sank in. Warrick coughed uneasily before reporting his findings.

"Gris, you know where those carpet fibers were all drawn in the same direction?" Grissom nodded, and Warrick continued. "Well, I found a fiber in that part of the carpet that I've traced back to a generic bed sheet. Looks like someone or something was dragged across the carpet in a sheet."

Sara considered this information only for a moment before excitedly adding to it. "Well, I found a shoeprint outside the back door to Nick's house. It was next to those tire tracks that we all saw. The print was small. Ladies, size 6."

"Makes sense," Warrick said while nodding. "Nick's a pretty big guy. If we're talking about a small woman abducting him, then it would have been much easier to drag him out of the house if he was wrapped up in a sheet."

"Okay, let's see," said Catherine. "So, Nicky wakes up and has his coffee. At some point afterwards, he gets sick."

"He's weak. Makes it easier for a much smaller person to take him out," Warrick continued.

"And since she's small, she can't carry him. She lays him out on the sheet which makes it easier for her to drag him outside," Sara finished.

"She must have put the toxin in the coffee cups at some point before Nick had coffee," Catherine theorized. "That's why she took all of the cups. She was trying to conceal evidence. The spilled coffee was probably an unexpected glitch in her plan. I mean, even if she tried to clean it up, we'd still find evidence of the poison."

"But how did she get into the house?" Greg asked.

"We saw no overt signs of a break in," Grissom murmured. A niggling memory dragged him away from the conversation momentarily. He remembered going to Nick's house one day not long after the last time Nick had been taken. He had been surprised that Nick had not set the security system, since the man had been very vigilant about doing so ever since the Crane incident. Gil remembered commenting to Nick about it, and Nick had grimaced as if he were torn between two necessary evils. "It makes me feel like I'm in a prison," the traumatized man had said. He had offered no further explanation, but Grissom didn't need any. It was easy to understand why, after being buried alive, Nick had attempted to decrease confinement in any form. He probably had never gotten back into the habit of setting the security system, or simply had never gotten over the sense of captivity it triggered.

Whatever the reason, if Nick hadn't set the security system he had afforded someone an easier entry into the house.

"Did anyone notice if the security system was on?" he asked the group.

"It wasn't," Warrick answered. From the knowing look the other man gave him, Gil supposed that Warrick had also been aware of Nick's unwillingness to set the house alarm.

"And the tire tracks?"

"The tires belong to a late '90's Ford Escort," Sara supplied. "Brass said that one of the neighbors noticed a small, dark car matching an Escort's description parked in the grass next to Nick's house."

"When was that?" Catherine asked.

"Late Wednesday night. On his night off." Sara said.

Gil suppressed a groan. Sara's information indicated that Nick could have been missing for well over 24 hours.

He refused to consider what could happen to a person within 24 hours. He refused to consider that Nick was beyond their salvation.

"Well if we're looking for a connection between Nick and a small woman who holds some knowledge of plant toxins, one name is high up on my list," Catherine said.

"Yeah," Warrick muttered. "And you can learn all kinds of interesting things in prison. Like lock picking."

"Kelly Gordon," Sara murmured. "Is she even out of prison?"

Grissom nodded. "And she was released from probation a month or so ago."

"Then we'll need a warrant," Catherine offered.

Gil sighed and tried very hard not to think of how twisted Kelly Gordon must be if she was the one to have done this act. How insane would she have to be to have waited until now to make a vengeful move against Nick?

He tried not to imagine what would have happened if that bit of coffee hadn't been spilled.

But his active mind could not help but supply the answer.

If the stain on the carpet had not been there, Grissom might not even have guessed that something was wrong at the house. And if Kelly was the one who had taken Nick, she had been smart in removing the coffee cups from the scene; the plant toxin was the strongest piece of evidence they had linking Nick's abduction to her. It was morbidly clear to Grissom that if the coffee hadn't been spilled, their chances of having even an inkling of an idea about what had happened to Nick would have been greatly diminished.

But the coffee _had_ been spilled, and Grissom _had_ noticed trouble. And although the spill had been only a small blunder in what was beginning to seem like a well thought out plan, it had been enough to supply them with someone he considered a viable suspect.

Gil concealed a shudder, and forced his thoughts to remain in a positive direction.

"I'll call Brass," he said quietly.

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It was amazing what data you could pick up off the Internet, Kelly mused as she watched Nick cowering in the corner. And if you became acquainted with the right kind of people, it was _really_ amazing how easy it was to obtain confidential information. Information like that found in police reports.

"I am one. Who am I?" she whispered gently in Nick's ear and relished his reaction. He pushed away from her and stumbled sideways to the opposite corner of the room. She had time to observe the panic on his face and laughed at the sight of it. Oh, how he deserved everything he was getting, and so did everyone who cared for him.

She silently crept near to him so that she could study him closely without him knowing about it. He had collapsed in the corner of the room and was frantically searching around the darkened space. She supposed that he was looking for the source of his fear but knew that he couldn't possibly see her since the room was as black as pitch. She, herself, had to use night-vision goggles in order to witness the effect her efforts were having on him. At first, she had found the goggles tacky; an unoriginal idea propagated by a creepy movie she once saw. But now she was glad to use them. There was something so utterly delightful about watching a weak, panicked, and naked Nicholas Stokes as he sought out escape or at least a little relief. And that delight was only accentuated by the fact that she could watch him from only inches away, and he would never see her.

"I am one. Who am I?" she asked again, and could not contain the giggle that escaped her when he tried, but failed, to scramble away. He was very weak now, dehydrated from vomiting. She considered holding off on another dose of the seeds and only force-feeding him water. The hydration would strengthen him enough that she would be able to continue playing with him for a while longer.

It hadn't been in her plan to keep him around much longer, but she hadn't realized just how much _fun_ toying with another person could be.

She supposed that she would have to tie him up again to force-feed the water, and she sighed quietly. Getting him back to the cot would be difficult, because he weighed so much more than she did. But it was doable. Besides, he was sick, and after observing the light sheen of sweat that coated him and the way his muscles shook, she knew that he wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight.

"I am one. Who am I?"

She wondered who he heard when she spoke those words softly in his ear. Thanks to a combination of the hallucinogen and the stress that she was forcing on him, she had no doubt that he was experiencing a particularly bad trip. Maybe instead of her voice, he actually did hear Nigel Crane's. The thought of such a possibility excited her, and she experienced an almost orgasmic thrill that caused her to remember the sexual pleasure she had experienced during her earlier treatment of him.

She shuddered slightly. Maybe after he was tied up, she would play _that_ game with him all over again, she thought as she studied his beautifully naked body.

"I am one. Who am I?"


	7. Chapter 6

**Hi Everyone….**

**Well, this chapter gave me a dickens of a time! Sorry for the delay, but it took me time to wrestle it into some semblance of what I wanted.**

**Thanks again for all of your wonderful reviews!**

**Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome. Any flames will be sent to Kelly Gordon…apparently she'll know what to do with them.**

**Emrys**

Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 6 

When he awoke this time, he found himself bound again. A sensation of pressure on his chest quickened his panic, and when the pressure moved, he almost screamed.

Where the hell was he? Where the hell was Nigel? And was he still naked?

Oh god, please no.

A hand was patting him almost gently on his cheek, and he was startled to realize that this had been going on unnoticed by him for quite some time.

"Wakey, wakey, Nicky."

The words were whispered almost lovingly, and he recognized Kelly's voice immediately. As her hands moved progressively lower, and he understood what was about to happen again, his stomach violently contracted. He turned his head to the side, and his throat burned when the acidic nature of his meager stomach contents spewed from his mouth.

"Not nice, Nicky," Kelly's voice was a disgusted sneer above him, and he almost cried with relief when he felt the pressure of her body leave his. Cruel hands cleaned him up, and he closed his eyes. Exhaustion and weakness rolled over him in waves, and he shuddered with the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to lift a finger against her even if she released him from his bonds.

His eyes snapped open when he felt her smooth hands begin to fondle him again.

"Be nice, Nicky," she whispered.

As she kissed him roughly, he felt the last vestiges of his sanity begin to splinter and fall.

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"I want to find Nicky as badly as you do, Gil," Brass' voice took on a low and compassionate tone as he explained the bad news. "But no judge is going to go for it. If she were still on probation, it would be a different story. But she's not under our thumb anymore. She's been a quiet, productive member of society since her release, and we can't just barge into her house because we _think_ she _might_ have some knowledge of poisonous plants."

Brass' words made sense, and if he had been a little less tired, Grissom would have been the one saying them. But he was exhausted, scared and more than a little desperate.

"You're right," Gil admitted weakly as he practically fell into the chair behind his desk. He fumbled his glasses off and rubbed his temples with his fingers. God, he had the mother of all headaches.

"When was the last time you slept, Grissom?" Brass asked kindly.

Gil's only response was a tight smile. In truth, he had reached a point far past exhaustion, but he was unwilling to admit that to the Detective. Besides, he wasn't the only one. The others had also been relentlessly working since Nick's disappearance; it was as if they all had secretly acknowledged that every minute not devoted to finding Nick was one more minute that he would be in danger.

They were driving themselves into the ground with thoughts of what could happen to Nick in a minute's time.

"Okay, Gil, listen. We can't obtain a warrant, but there's nothing stopping us from asking Kelly Gordon a few questions. What's say you and I go to her house?" Grissom felt the Detective eyeing him critically and knew that he must look as tired as he felt. "On second thought,' Brass continued, "Maybe you should sit this one out. I'll bring Catherine instead."

Gil almost laughed out loud at the suggestion. Grissom doubted that Kelly Gordon would survive an encounter with the feisty CSI.

A cooler head needed to prevail.

"No, Jim. I'll come with you. I'm okay," Grissom said as he put his glasses back on and pulled himself out of the chair.

Brass watched the other man doubtfully, but said nothing.

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The same, shocking barrage of white lights assaulted Nick as violently as they had previously. They had been appearing periodically, and it had taken him longer than it should have to recognize them.

A camera flash. She had been taking pictures of him throughout his ordeal, and his face burned with the shame that the knowledge produced.

A second series of the lights flickered, and he became increasingly disoriented.

"Just leave me alone," he whispered feebly.

"Not just yet, Nicky," Kelly whispered back as she clambered on top of him again. Even as he cringed inwardly, his body responded involuntarily to the feel of her flesh against his and at the soft presence of her mouth against his chest. Tears leaked from his eyes as he felt her vile, probing hands begin to move across his body again.

But suddenly, the awful activity stopped, and he felt Kelly shift up and away from him. She froze momentarily, and then uttered a strong oath. After a moment, she slid off of him, and he heard her scrambling around in the room.

"Who the hell's at the door?" he heard her acidic voice mutter.

He shook with relief, even after she unexpectedly forced a gag into his mouth. Her hurried footsteps echoed throughout the room, and she hissed a warning at him to stay put before she left through an exit he could not see.

He wanted to laugh at her but couldn't find the strength. Where the hell did she think he was going? He was trussed up like a calf at a rodeo with a gag biting into the edges of his mouth. He wasn't going anywhere.

But all of this was inconsequential. The gag, his weariness, the rope that bound him. None of it was important now.

She had left him for a little while, and that was all that mattered.

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Staring at the unkempt remains of the tomato plants that were half way buried in the grass, Grissom didn't feel as if his head was so cool anymore. In fact, he was unprepared for the ferocity of the heated rage that passed through his skull. He had no evidence to back him up, but he also had no doubt that Kelly Gordon knew where Nick was.

She had been nothing but affable and concerned when Brass had informed her that Nick was missing. She had even invited them into her house and allowed them to look around. She had freely expressed her supposed admiration for Nick by telling them the story of how he had visited her at the prison, and she even attributed her early release and revised, more lenient probationary sentence to his insistence that she not take her own twisted pain with her when she left the prison. She had asserted that Nick was the one who showed her that quiet acceptance could return her to herself.

Grissom had hidden his surprise at her story of Nick's visit. He had not known about it.

Instead, he had watched her carefully as she talked to Brass. When Brass had visited Kelly at the prison with Sara by his side all those years ago, she had reportedly been short and curt with the man. Now as he scrutinized her, Grissom had seen no hint of disrespect. She was full of smiles and conciliatory words.

It had been his first clue that something was dreadfully wrong.

The second came when she had showed them her garden while babbling excitedly about her hard-won successes in growing plants practically exotic to the Nevada climate.

Oleander, vinca, fruit trees, and even a struggling rhododendron filled the lush garden. All were poisonous. Some were deadly.

No longer listening as Kelly chatted amiably with Brass, Grissom had continued to stagger through the garden on legs that were suddenly numb. Walking unsteadily past a mulch pile, his mind had been racing, but he had somehow managed to note that the brewing fertilizer contained numerous rotting tomatoes and several browning peach slices. Kelly had looked unhappily at the fruit and had explained that the peaches had been mealy.

"But then again, it's the first crop I've produced," she had said with a smile at Grissom. "I don't suppose that I should have had such high expectations for it." She had shrugged, and then led them away from the mulch.

It wasn't until he saw the massacred tomato plants that he knew with certainty that Kelly Gordon was guilty.

He looked away from the plants with as much nonchalance as he could muster and pulled his pager off his belt with shaking hands.

"Brass, we've got to go," he announced, lifting the pager and hoping that his voice sounded calm. "I just got paged back to the lab. It's an emergency."

The statement sounded so false and hollow that he wondered if Kelly would suspect it was a lie. He needed to be careful. If she became suspicious of them, if she even picked up a hint that Grissom knew she had Nick, there was no telling what she would do to the captured young man. But it was difficult to be casual when anger coursed through him along with the knowledge that he now almost certainly had the evidence that they needed for a warrant. His desire to get out of the nightmarish garden and obtain the court order as quickly as possible was practically overwhelming.

Gil didn't hear Brass politely making their excuses, but for the first time, he thought he saw a flicker of distaste momentarily possess Kelly's face. A cold chill dragged down his spine, and it was with some relief that he stumbled to the front lawn towards the Tahoe.

Grissom waited until Kelly had returned to the house before pulling out his cell phone. Distracted by his furious thoughts, he ignored Brass' questions as he made his way to the Tahoe. Leaning heavily against the vehicle's door, Gil hurriedly dialed Greg's extension at the lab.

"'Lo," Greg's voice sounded tired and defeated on the other end of the line.

"Greg, it's Grissom. I need to know other sources for solanine besides green potatoes," Grissom shot the demand quickly into the phone.

"Gimme a sec," Greg said. Grissom could tell by the tone of Greg's voice that the young investigator's curiosity was piqued, and he was more than a little relieved when Greg did not barrage him with questions.

"Grissom, what's this all about?" Brass seemed irritated that the supervising investigator knew something that he didn't.

"Have you ever heard of anyone ripping apart tomato plants and then throwing the fruit away?" Grissom asked the other man.

Brass shrugged. "I'm from Jersey. What do I know about plants? Maybe she did some pruning or something."

Grissom glared at the detective dangerously before continuing. "People don't generally prune tomato plants into the ground, Brass. It's the middle of the summer. Tomato plants are still producing fruit now. Why destroy them half-way through the season?"

"Maybe she's sick of tomatoes," Brass suggested.

Grissom opened his mouth to respond, but Greg's voice returned to the phone.

"Okay, Grissom, I've got it. Like I said, it can be found in potatoes, but also in any member of the nightshade family. This includes eggplants, peppers, tomatoes…."

"Tomatoes?" Gil repeated. "Greg, do you mean the plant or the fruit?"

"Ummmm," The sound of papers ruffling could be heard on the line, and Gil reined in his impatience. "Just the green parts of the plant," Greg confirmed Grissom's suspicions. "Why, Boss? Have you found…."

Grissom interrupted the beginnings of Greg's excited interrogation by hanging up the phone. He gave Brass a pointed look.

"Or maybe she's just sick," he said grimly.


	8. Chapter 7

**Hi Everyone!**

**Again, sorry for the long delay in this update….Real life was hitting me in more ways than one. Nothing serious, but I just got caught up in reality for a bit.**

**I have a few people to thank for this chapter. The first display of gratitude goes out to Sara. Thanks so much for the unpaid consultation! I hope this fits the bill, and if it doesn't, I hope that it's close enough to be okay. Your advice was valuable to me and has greatly affected this fic. THANKS SO MUCH!**

**Also, to Kristen999 and everybetty…thanks for the confident words and for the discussions about writing. I can't tell you how much I look forward to finding one of your messages waiting in my email box!**

And for everyone else who has given me feedback for this fic…it is truly appreciated and it really helps me feel good about writing this…well, let's say…somewhat disturbing story.

**One last, bitty thing to note: Any (and I mean ANY) mistakes found here are mine and mine alone.**

**Now I must go off to eat my supper and watch Stargate! Woo-Hoo!**

**Emrys**

Daddy's Little Girl – Part 7 

She realized that she had made a mistake, and now those cops knew that she was somehow responsible for Nick Stokes' whereabouts. The whole while they were in her house as she calmly answered their questions, she had been silently screaming at herself to "Just smile, god damn it!" She had believed that gentle concern and admiration for Stokes would assuage any suspicions the officers might have regarding her involvement with the missing CSI.

But she had been wrong.

That bearded man; the other crime scene investigator, he knew something was up. She guessed that he had seen something in the garden, because that was when his demeanor had changed from curious to knowing.

How could she have been so stupid?

They had just come to ask her a few questions, and really, who could blame them? She had made a mistake by allowing Stokes to drop that one poison-laden cup of coffee. If the CSI's had been able to place her at a crime scene from a Styrofoam cup all those years ago when this hell had started, surely they could have detected the spilled solanine. Would have detected it even though she had hurriedly cleaned up the mess. So really, it was not completely unexpected that they might seek her out. She had at least a passing connection with the supposed victim along with botanical knowledge. And she had never been under the delusion that they were not aware of her history.

So why? Why had she shown them the garden?

God damn it, how could she have been so stupid!

She shook her head and pulled at her hair hatefully. If she was honest with herself, the answer to her question was plain.

Pride. Pure and simple pride.

It had just felt so _good_ to be able to play innocent while at the same time flaunting the evidence of her retaliation in their ignorant faces. How wonderful to know that she could hide in plain sight! How thrilling! Because, really, how could they know nearly as much as she did about the precious nature of her garden?

Except, the investigator with the beard; Grissom had been his name, he hadn't been so ignorant, had he? He had taken one look around the garden and had positioned his assessing gaze on her. Those eyes of his saw everything, and the force of their intelligence burned and tarnished her.

And so now it was over. Despite the fact that the small part of her plan she had completed wasn't enough to make up for what she had gone through in prison, she would be forced to finish. And it wasn't enough, not enough by far. But she understood, in a sudden, maniacal insight, that if she didn't finish it now, the level of retribution wouldn't even come close to satisfying her.

She had no choice.

Shrugging fatalistically, Kelly straightened the kitchen up and folded a blanket over the couch. Truthfully, she thought to herself, she actually had successfully gained a bit of gratifying vengeance. She supposed it would have to do.

Kelly nodded and forced herself to accept the achievements she had so far made. She had done well, and if she finished this one last task, she could be content.

Smiling, Kelly climbed the stares to the darkened room.

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It was a testament to Grissom's exhaustion and anxiety that he hadn't thought of it first. For hours now, his teeming thoughts had been focused on obtaining a warrant. If they could just get the damn warrant than maybe Nicky would be safe.

He had learned a long time ago that linear thinking could really be a deficit in his line of work. Learned it eons ago as a green, wet-behind-the ears, rookie who, sure that he was reading the evidence correctly, had interrupted a suspect interrogation by verbally berating a young and as it was eventually proven, innocent woman to tears. Outraged by the offensive crime and distracted by the overwhelming evidence against the woman, he had dismissed the seemingly minor piece of evidence that had eventually redeemed her. For him it had been a facile case of A + B equals C, and it had been a mistake that had nearly cost him his career and had burned the image of the distraught woman into his mind forever.

A + B equals C very rarely occurred in his job.

And luckily, Brass still remembered that.

"Do we have enough for probable cause?" the tough detective asked.

"What?" Grissom's tired mind still gripped tightly to the necessity of a warrant and couldn't seem to process the words.

"Probable cause," Brass said, exasperatedly. "Just….never mind, get in the car before she gets suspicious."

After they had settled in the front seat of the Tahoe, Grissom brought his thoughts about and considered what Brass had suggested.

"Probable cause?" he asked.

The detective nodded.

"Yeah. She fits the size description of our suspect, and you seem pretty convinced that you've found important evidence on the site that could eventually convict her of a crime. Do you think that she's suspicious now that we've been to her house? Do you think it's possible that she could destroy the evidence?"

Grissom swore inwardly. Jim was right. Before they left the scene to take the time to get a warrant, they needed to at least consider probable cause. He contemplated Brass's question for a moment and remembered the flicker of hatred that had briefly seeped into Kelly's expression as they were leaving the house. Additionally, the evidence of solanine cultivation he had seen in that poisonous garden was strong enough for him to be convinced that Kelly was involved in Nick's abduction.

"Yeah," he breathed as his heart began pounding quicker. "Forensic psychology isn't my forte, but I think she suspects. And I think she's smart enough to destroy any evidence."

Brass nodded resolutely.

"Alright. Here are our options. We can sit here and watch her, see what she does and where she goes for a while. Or we just go in. It's a tough choice either way. If we stay out here and watch, she may lead us to Nick. But if he's in the house somewhere, she could easily destroy evidence and ki…." Brass, who had been cold and business-like up to this point, stumbled over the word. He sighed shakily and then shrugged. "Well, it's just that she could hurt him some more," he finished lamely.

Grissom considered the alternatives carefully and recognized that Brass's assessment of the situation was accurate. It was a tricky decision to make, but after acknowledging that Kelly might destroy evidence, Grissom was able to make a confident choice. Despite the fact that it would be easier to find Nick and convict Kelly if she actually led them to the missing man, Grissom trusted the evidence above all else.

"We have to preserve the evidence," Gil said. He felt his hands begin to shake when he realized that he may have just signed Nick's death warrant and have given Kelly a way out of being convicted. If Nick wasn't in the house or if the evidence didn't point them to Nick's whereabouts, it was difficult to imagine that Kelly, despite her previous appeasing behavior, would tell them anything after they barged into her house. Additionally, crying probable cause could always backfire in court, especially if a judge thought that the officers in question had trampled on a citizen's rights by been overly concerned for the life of their fellow investigator.

But it seemed that Brass had the answers for everything today.

"Do you hear that?" Jim asked with an ironic twist to his mouth.

"What?" Gil asked, dully.

"I hear someone yelling. Sounds like a guy's voice coming from inside Kelly Gordon's house," Brass thrust the radio speaker into Grissom's hand, brought out his gun and opened the door to the Tahoe. "Call for backup," he grumbled to Grissom as he strode purposefully back to the house.

Grissom stared after Jim momentarily, but then gathered his wits about him. He realized that his mouth had dropped open and abruptly closed it as he stared admirably at Brass who was stalking up the walkway.

No sound had emanated from the house, but Grissom calmly called for backup anyway.

888

Nick was barely conscious when she returned, and he didn't have the strength to react to her. He heard her pacing furiously around the room but only moved to look in her direction when the sudden clanking of something metallic startled him into a higher state of awareness.

She continued to shuffle and work in the dark, and he felt the weakness of his body begin to drag his consciousness down and away from her and this place in which he was trapped. Despite the dizzying descent of his awareness and the nausea that accompanied, he relished the idea of diminishing consciousness. Kelly's frantic scuffling and the panic that he vaguely sensed in her had clued him in that an end to his sorry state was near. He didn't mind that. He wanted it to end.

He remained on the gray edge of consciousness and so did not feel her touch on his face. He was only able to register that she was hovering over him again when splotches of warm, salty water fell onto his cheek from above. The water confused him until his sense of hearing kicked back in, and he recognized the sound of Kelly's quiet weeping. He could not bring himself to feel sorry for her.

He felt himself drifting again, but was pulled back when the gag was painfully tugged away from his mouth and yet another liquid was forced down his throat. He was unable to resist the panic that coursed through him, and as he struggled and choked on the drink, his adrenaline-heightened senses were assaulted by the blurry sight of her wracked face, the bruising burn of her touch, and the bitter scent of something awful.

After a while, she backed off of him, and he was left spluttering and desperately attempting to draw in breath. Once his breathing eased and his body calmed, he forced his mind to quiet and for the first time since this ordeal had begun, thinking was easy and welcome.

He recognized the scent of almonds from the drink, knew it for the poison it was.

Sighing with relief, he closed his eyes and smiled at the knowledge he held of the inevitable outcome of the potion. He had been right. His ordeal was over.

And he really didn't mind all that much until he felt his breath catch in his throat the first time and felt the stirrings of a panic he did not want to experience, had not thought he would experience.

But the hitch in his breathing happened just once more and then the vestiges of consciousness began to leave him. As his eyes began to flutter closed, he sensed the sudden, steady glow of a yellow light break through the darkness of the room. He was too tired; however, to even affect curiosity about its source. But as he finally drifted away completely, he had a moment to wonder at a voice he heard. He allowed himself only a moment of awe, and after it had passed, a roaring sound concealed any further words the voice might have said. But he had heard the first word, and the sound of it coming from a voice he knew he would never hear again had drawn a lazy smile from him.

"Nicky!"


	9. Chapter 8

Hey Everyone… 

**Okay, Okay! I'm SORRY! It has been a really long time between updates, but I went away (to a swanky hotel….it was a work thing…and well, you know, teachers do occasionally work during the summer! Well, honestly, I can't say that this was ALL work…you should have seen the desserts! UNLIMITED, paid for by someone else desserts. Gosh, I made myself sick!), and I didn't have access to my computer. And, plus, well, (I'm hanging my head here) I got completely obsessed with reading a VERY LONG, EXTREMELY GOOD Stargate Atlantis fanfiction series. But, I mean, you have to forgive me for that because I'm a Chemistry teacher…my innate geekiness must be fed occasionally!**

**But here is the next part. I need to warn everyone that I am not part of the medical field, and I've never claimed to be. I've done extensive research, but that can't take the place of real training. Consequently, there will probably be mistakes here, but since this is a work of fanFICTION, let's suspend reality for a little while, shall we? It's so much more fun that way!**

**Thanks again to everyone who has given me feedback. Also, thanks to everybetty and Kristen999 for getting in touch when I went off the radar to the swanky hotel.**

**Hope you like it. I'm grateful for any comments you may have…but no flames, please!**

**Emrys**

Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 8 

The shock Grissom experienced at the unexpected discovery of his missing colleague forced his normally passivity to shatter and be replaced with relief and surprising exhilaration.

"Nicky!" he exclaimed and then rushed with uncharacteristic carelessness into the room.

Standing at the head of the dingy cot on which the other man lay, Grissom noted that Nick appeared to be on the verge of sleep. His face was slack, and his eyes were only half-opened under their heavy lids. Grissom reached out for Nick's wrist in an attempt to check his pulse but was thwarted by the rough ropes that tied the man's arms to the cot. Startled, Grissom pulled his hand away and felt the slickness of blood encasing his fingers. He focused his flashlight away from Nick's face and onto the ropes he had felt beneath his hands. Blood oozed from the thick bindings, and he gagged in an involuntary response to it. The damage to Nick's arm forced Grissom to accept the reality that his colleague had not gone unscathed, and his initial euphoria splintered.

Slowly, his heart pounding horrifically in his chest, Grissom dragged the beam of the flashlight across Nick's body. What he saw forced a stricken moan from him.

Gil visibly cringed when he recognized that Nick was naked and that his body was riddled with bruises. In the light of the flashlight, Nick's skin was alabaster: pale and unmoving. Grissom shuddered at the sight.

He didn't want to know this. He didn't want to know that this good man could have been tortured. The thought was inconceivable.

Shaken, Gil moved his hand to Nick's throat in another attempt to check for a hopefully robust pulse. His hand shook as he reached the pulse point, and a sudden thought caused him to pause momentarily before touching the skin along Nick's trachea.

What if Nick wasn't sleeping? What if he wasn't even unconscious? What if he were dead?

The impact of these questions lengthened Grissom's moment of hesitation. If he didn't complete this task, then he would never have to continue with the next. If he never reached for Nick's pulse, then he would never have to deal with the awful eventuality of not finding it.

The thought was ridiculous and highly irrational, but Grissom was frozen with his inability to continue on to the next scene of this horrible plot. He suddenly wished that the rest of his team were here to share the agony of this situation with him. If they were here, he wouldn't be able to afford himself the luxury of being ridiculous and irrational. He would be calmly logical. He would be doing everything right. But instead he was here alone, struggling to unlock his mind and his musculature.

The dreadful impasse continued for an immeasurable time, but when Brass stumbled and then clambered into the room, Gil's shocked paralysis shattered. He was then free to shakily lean forward in search of a carotid pulse.

He released an unsteady breath when he found the throb of blood flowing beneath Nick's skin. It was too fast and weak, but the man was still alive.

Relief coursed through him, and he almost collapsed when his legs suddenly lost their strength and became nothing more than overstretched rubber bands. But he managed to compose himself quickly when Brass approached the cot, and he only wavered slightly on his feet before regaining his balance.

"He's alive," Grissom whispered and was unsure if he was trying to assure himself or Brass of that fact.

Brass nodded. "I told the paramedics to come up here. They're on their way," he said. Grissom could only be thankful that at least one of them had had the presence of mind to do the thing that would help Nicky the most.

Brass had found a blanket from somewhere, and he handed it to Grissom. As Grissom thankfully covered Nick with the blanket, Brass surveyed the room for possible threats.

"What's that smell?" Jim asked while shining his own flashlight around the still-darkened room.

"What?" Grissom asked dumbly. He kneeled down beside Nick and began struggling to loosen the rope around the man's arms.

"Smells familiar. Like almonds or something," Brass said idly. Finding nothing immediately threatening to any of them, the detective returned his full attention to Grissom.

Panic coursed through Grissom again, and he leaned closer to Nick. He deeply breathed the air surrounding them both, and his heart lurched when he recognized the scent.

"Cyanide," he breathed. "God." Standing, Grissom forced his panic down and placed a hand against Nick's torso. He monitored Nick's breathing, felt the abnormal deepness to it and the slight interruption in between the still somewhat regular rhythm to the expansion of his ribcage.

"God," he repeated and moved the flashlight up to Nick's face. It was hard to make detailed observations of the man's condition in the feeble light, but he thought he saw a dusky tinge of blue surrounding Nick's lips.

"Brass, tell the paramedics to bring their cyanide kit!" Grissom exclaimed forcibly. "And, god, we need more light in here!" he added in frustration.

Brass left the room with more speed than Grissom thought was possible for the detective to achieve. Under other circumstances, Jim's reaction might have been amusing.

But Grissom could not laugh now.

Suddenly remembering that cyanide absorbed easily through the skin, Gil cursed his stupidity. If Nick had any cyanide on him, Grissom could have contaminated his own system with the poison when he had touched him.

He cursed again, but realized that there was nothing he could do about it. Yet the sudden recall of the information made him realize that determining the route of the cyanide transmission would be helpful in treating Nick. He leaned over Nick again and tried to ascertain whether or not the bitter scent of the poison was strongest in any particular region of Nick's body.

Careful not to touch Nick, Grissom started his search at the poisoned man's head. He had no cause to progress any further; however, because the gentle puff of the incapacitated CSI's breath established the manner in which he had been poisoned. It seemed obvious that Nick had been forced to either inhale or ingest the cyanide, and Grissom cursed again.

"Where the hell are those paramedics?" he bellowed in desperation. He was helpless to do anything more for his friend. The presence of the cyanide even prevented him from offering Nick comfort by grasping his hand or loosening his bonds.

Suddenly paramedics burst through the door, and Grissom thankfully gave them room. He felt Brass's hand on his shoulder and allowed the detective to steer him back further so that he would not be in the way while the paramedics worked on Nick.

Grissom watched as the medics assessed Nick, and he bit back demands that they treat him immediately for the poisoning. They knew what they were doing, and it would be foolish of them not to confirm for themselves that cyanide was a culprit in this appalling scene.

It was only seconds, but to Grissom it felt like hours before an oxygen mask was hurriedly placed over Nick's face. In the moment when perles of amyl nitrite were broken and placed under the oxygen mask, Grissom realized that he had hoped to be wrong in his own amateur diagnosis. He had hoped that it wasn't cyanide that was causing Nick's symptoms, because how were they to know how long ago Nick had been exposed to the deadly poison? The longer between exposure and administration of the antidote, the deadlier the poison became. How could they dare to hope for Nick to survive such treatment when the time between him being given the poison and then of the antidote was unknown?

It seemed foolish to hope when it was quite possible that Nick had been struggling with the effects of the poison for the whole hour that he and Brass had been interviewing Kelly Gordon and exploring her house. It seemed foolish to hope in the light of such sickening irony.

Grissom's thoughts were interrupted by the hurried tones of a woman. He looked up to find one of the paramedics staring at him in an assessing way. He wondered if she thought he was going into shock. With resolve, he forced his worried thoughts away and concentrated on what the woman was saying to him.

"We need to get him to the hospital immediately," she said unnecessarily. He nodded his head and turned his attention back to the other paramedic who had started an I.V. line. "We're treating him now with I.V. sodium nitrite, but there's a good chance his blood pressure will drop with its administration."

"Okay," Grissom said and was at a loss to speak any other words.

"You can't ride with us," the paramedic explained patiently. He wondered momentarily how she knew that he would want to accompany Nick to the hospital, but he pushed the thought away. Anger suddenly coursed through him in response to her statement.

"Try to stop me," he said.

"Mr. Grissom," she replied reasonably. He speculated how she knew his name. "He has cyanide poisoning, and we don't know the extent of the exposure. He's a biohazard in his own right, right now, and we can't take the chance that you will be exposed to the poison any more than you have already. In fact, everyone who has been in this room will have to be scrubbed down before you, yourselves are taken to the hospital for monitoring. I'm sorry."

Grissom was about to protest vehemently when the abrupt and commanding presence of Brass's hand on his shoulder prevented the outburst. Instead, Gil just nodded weakly and watched helplessly as Nick was loaded onto a gurney and taken out of the room and away from him.

"I'll call Catherine," Brass said quietly.

Grissom nodded numbly. "Tell her to send Greg to Desert Palms to keep us updated on Nick's condition. We'll need the others here," he said, stiffly.

"Okay," said Brass. He reached over to again grab Grissom's shoulder reassuringly. "He's strong, Gil. We've seen him overcome some terrible things. He'll get over this as well." Brass's words were sure, but Grissom couldn't help but notice the bleakness lingering in Jim's eyes.

"Okay?" Brass asked while squeezing Grissom's shoulder tighter.

"Yeah," Gil lied in response to the multiple questions taken up by that one word. "Go on."

Brass patted Grissom's shoulder once before leaving. Grissom stayed a little longer and stared at the tattered cot in the corner. He tried not to think of the things that could have happened in this space. Tried not to think of the things that could have happened to Nick.

He remembered the obscene texture of Nick's blood on his hands. Nick's blood. He shuddered again at the recollection, and then berated himself for the response. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen worse in his line of work. It wasn't as if he was so innocent as to be ignorant of the fact that people routinely did the most terrible things to each other.

But, despite all that had happened before, Grissom was still innocent enough to be physically and emotionally shocked when people did these most terrible things to Nick, a man he considered a colleague and a friend.

He leaned heavily against the wall and wearily rubbed his a hand across his face. He resigned himself to stop thinking, to just sit in this dark place where he knew he would be left alone, just for a little while. Just a small reprieve before the others arrived, and action and thought became necessary again.

When the lights abruptly came on in the room, Grissom's eyes watered in response to their sudden brightness.


	10. Chapter 9

Hi Everyone… 

**Just a short note to let you know that FINALLY the comfort begins. Only a little bit in this chapter, but more will come!**

**Thanks again for all of your feedback. I wish that I had more time to reply to each of you individually, but that's not the case. Instead, I have to hope that you know that I appreciate every iota of every review that you send me!**

**Oh yeah, and…once again…I'm not part of the medical profession, so please excuse any mistakes.**

**Take care,**

**Emrys**

**Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 9**

When his eyes cleared, he saw Catherine standing in front of him with a compassionate smile playing around her lips.

"So you found him?" she asked simply. Her too smart eyes watched him carefully, and he began to pull himself together. He was thankful for her presence, because she was someone familiar in an otherwise unfamiliar situation. He knew how to act and react to her, and he felt himself returning to what he was, felt himself drawing upon his intelligence to make sense of the nonsensical. He needed to stop thinking about the broad reality of what had happened to Nick and focus on the smaller patterns that the evidence provided.

"Yeah," he said and looked around the room for the first time. A veritable chemistry laboratory was distributed about the small space, and he moved towards it with interest. Catherine stopped him by placing an authoritative and triple-gloved hand on his shoulder.

"Grissom, this area is contaminated with an unknown level of cyanide. You need to go downstairs and get washed up before they take you to the hospital for observation."

Grissom turned to the other CSI and for the first time noticed that she was suited up for a light biohazard contamination. She smiled cavalierly and posed her hands up and away from her body.

"It's the latest in CSI fashion wear," she said, playfully. She twirled a bit for him, and he found himself smiling despite the circumstances. "What do you think?"

Grissom nodded at the bulky and unflattering costume she had been forced to wear, and his smile broadened. "It's you."

"Gee, thanks," she said, sardonically. She paused, and Grissom noted that her brave smile wavered a bit as her lips involuntarily turned downwards and trembled. She turned away from him so that he couldn't see her distress.

"Tell me he was okay," Catherine whispered. He barely caught her words, but they almost tore apart his newly found calm.

He could not bring himself to lie to her, so he ignored the question instead.

"Where are Warrick and Sara?" he asked, hoping that she would play along.

She was quiet for a moment, and he felt her displeasure almost as if it were a palpable thing.

"They're outside suiting up," she unhappily responded after a while. She turned to face him and attempted to read his expression. He tried to maintain his composure, but apparently they had known each other for far too long because he saw the distress build in her face.

"Catherine…." he said.

"No, never mind. I'll find out soon enough. I can't stay. Nick's parents are catching the next flight from Dallas, but they won't be here until later this evening. Since you're tied up here, and I'm listed after you as an alternate on Nick's health care proxy, he needs me there. Sara and Warrick will run the scene as soon as it's cleared." Her words came out as a rush and were spoken in a controlled, matter-of-fact tone.

"They haven't cleared the scene yet?" Grissom was surprised. It felt like hours had passed since they had found Nick.

"The house itself is secure, but the garden hasn't been fully searched yet. They're out there now, but it's a big piece of property. It might take a while, and they haven't found Kelly yet. I'm here to get your ass downstairs so that they can decontaminate you and send you off for a mandatory 24 hour observation at the hospital."

"But…" Grissom began as he looked around the room. He wanted to process this evidence. It was the only way he could help Nick.

"No but's, Grissom. Downstairs, now." Catherine's voice brooked no argument, and Grissom found his composure returning.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, good-naturedly and preceded her out of the room.

888

Kelly clung balefully to the slim trunk of the peach tree and attempted to hold back the vicious sobs that threatened to tear her apart. Taking a sip of the concoction in her hand, she looked reverently up into the tree's branches. The late afternoon sun drifted lazily through its bright green leaves, and she wished that she could touch them, wished that she could become part of them.

She had understood, far too late, that she was never going to make it out of the house before they came to bring her back to prison. And that just could not happen. Would not happen. So she had grabbed the suddenly precious leftovers of cyanide and had somehow made her way to the tree before the law had barged back into her life.

But, thinking about it, it occurred to her in a flash of sudden rationality that maybe she had known all along that this quest of hers would lead to a fatal level of finality. For weeks, she had worked far longer than necessary to extract enough cyanide from the peach pits to kill at least two people. It had been a laborious process, and it had been unnecessary to double the product if her sole intention was to destroy Nick Stokes alone. Additionally, she had left the excess in easy reach, and there had been no need to scramble in search of it prior to this escape to her garden.

But her tears were her biggest clue to the dawning realization that a part of her had all along been aware that she had a death wish. They had started shortly after ascending the stairs to Nick's room. Had drenched the glassware in the make shift lab and tempered her various potions with their saltiness. She remembered the sound of them as they splatted against Nick's face. They had been large and wet and were the portents of her death.

The sudden image of Nick's face covered in her tears erased any self-examination of her motivations, and she dwelled on the visual memory. Her sobs subsided a bit, and she easily swallowed several mouthfuls of the bitter extraction. She sank down closer to the scrub surrounding her tree when she heard the tell-tale sounds of authoritative footsteps coming closer to her, but all the time she treasured the image of her final work.

She had ruined him. That one last look at his face offered no doubt to that fact. He was broken beyond repair, and even if; and such a large 'if,' really; even if, he survived her poisons, he would always reap the detriments of her touch.

His heart would be like the fruit stone from which she had taken her poison. Small, hard, and empty.

With one final draw of the lethal draught, Kelly finished what would be the cause of her end. Her crying had completely subsided, and she allowed herself to sink further to the ground until she was lying completely supine.

A broad smile spread across her face when they finally found her.

She laughed a bit and waved at the featureless face that hovered above her.

Then she closed her eyes, and it was over.

888

Many hours later, something drew Nick to the close edge of consciousness. He drifted in and out for a while and only had intermittent moments to recognize the stimulus of his heightened awareness.

Someone was stroking his hair.

Panic seized him despite his lack of total alertness, and he tried to struggle against the touch of his sensitized skin.

888

Grissom sat beside Nick's bedside in ICU and made a careful study of the poisoned man's face. It was chalky white in color except for the slight tinge of blue that ringed his mouth and the growing bruise that marred the skin under his right eye. The tube that extended into his lungs was an obscene but necessary extension of Nick's mouth since it was the only means by which oxygen was able to flow into his chemically damaged body. Intravenous injections of various fluids that would hopefully counteract the effects of the cyanide poisoning and advanced dehydration that Nick was experiencing dripped slowly into tubing that had been inserted into his arms.

Grissom sighed heavily and dropped his head into his hands. He had managed to wrestle five minutes away from his own hospital room to see his colleague, but his time was almost up. He would have to return soon despite the fact that it had been ascertained that his exposure to the cyanide had been negligible at worst. So far he had experienced no ill effects and remained asymptomatic.

The same could not be said of Nick.

Nick reportedly had never regained consciousness once he had been removed from Kelly Gordon's house. The tox screen of his blood was both bizarre and frightening; it was a veritable pharmacological cornucopia. Oxygen deprivation due to the effects of the cyanide poisoning had gained a firm hold, and it was taking longer than expected to reverse.

Nick's prognosis was not good.

Feeling the stirring of despair, Grissom reached out and placed a gentle hand on Nick's head. Nick had grown his hair out a bit over the years, and Grissom pushed its sweaty strands back from out of the younger man's face. Too wrapped up in his thoughts, he continued the action without consciously thinking about it.

He needed to get to the crime scene and make sure that the evidence was processed correctly. It would be the only way that he could make sense of what had happened to Nick.

Grissom's concentration shifted when he noted the faster complaint of the heart monitor. He moved his gaze up to it and saw that Nick's heart rate had increased slightly. Nick's head shifted under his hand, and Grissom returned his attention to the man.

"Nick?" he asked, hoping that Nick was regaining consciousness.

Nick's heart rate continued to mount, and Grissom began to become alarmed.

"Nicky? Nicky, it's okay. You're all right now. It's all right."

Any further words that Grissom may have offered by way of comfort remained unuttered. As the monitor announced that Nick's heart was stuttering with arrythmia, Gil was pushed aside by a slew of medical personnel.

Suddenly a nurse was standing in front of him and ushering him out of the room.

"What's happening?" he asked her. His voice sounded calm and alien to his ears.

"He's acidotic, and it's affecting his heart," the nurse replied plainly. "We need to re-establish a normal rhythm. I'll escort you back to your room and come back when I have any news."

"No, let me stay here with the others," Grissom insisted as they passed by Catherine and both of Nick's parents, all of whom were pacing restlessly in a family waiting room. It was a relief to see Catherine. He had been kept in the dark about the happenings at the crime scene, and he needed to know what she knew.

The nurse looked skeptical, but slowed her forward progress.

"We both know that if I were affected by the cyanide, I'd be showing symptoms by now. Let me just stay. I'm the supervisor in charge of the crime scene investigation unit that is processing the scene where Nick's cyanide poisoning took place." Grissom indicated Catherine with a wave of his hand. "Ms. Willows will have information for me. I'd like to hear it while we wait for news on Nick."

The nurse still remained obviously hesitant, but she nodded anyway. "Fine. I'll be back as soon as I know anything about Mr. Stokes' condition."

"Condition?" Catherine asked, alarmed. She and Nick's parents had walked over to Grissom as the nurse hurried away, and it was apparent that they had heard the woman's comment. "What condition?"

Grissom saw no need in sugar coating the news to these people. They were all very strong individuals who would not appreciate an evasion of the truth.

"His heart. He's developed cardiac complications," he reported grimly, and then sat heavily into a corner chair. The seat was hard and uncomfortable, but he didn't mind.


	11. Chapter 10

Just a quick note to let you all know that I ABSOLUTELY have NOT abandoned this fic. I was planning on writing this section last Sunday and then posting it, but when I got home all of my electricity was out! It took my landlord four (count 'em…FOUR!) days to get things straightened out, and coupled with the fact that my car was at the mechanic's (for two weeks!) and with the return back to the classroom, I was unable to write for a little while.

**But here's chapter 10, and barring any other weirdness, chapter 11 should be out very soon (I'm starting on it tonight).**

**Thanks for your patience and your continued, lovely feedback!**

**Emrys**

**P.S. Remember…I'm not a doctor! There are probably a TON of medical mistakes here, but don't flame me for them…PLEASE! **

Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 10 

"Mr. Grissom," Nick's mother called to Gil softly but paused when he didn't immediately respond to her. She moved to sit beside him and put a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that commanded notice. Grissom looked into her face and was painfully reminded of the last time they had sat together in a hospital waiting room. She had worn that same agonized look on her face for days.

"Gil," she continued desperately once she had his attention. "What do you mean when you say 'cardiac complications?' He was fine when we were allowed to see him earlier," she pointed vaguely in the direction of Nick's father as she spoke.

Grissom sighed heavily and turned away from Mrs. Stokes. "Cardiac complications are not uncommon in progressive cyanide poisoning," he explained with a vague air to his voice. "He developed an arrhythmia while I was sitting with him," Grissom suddenly felt the need to apologize to Nick's parents. On some level he knew that the urge was unreasonable, but he couldn't help thinking that the few minutes that he had been allowed to sit with Nick were precious time that had been stolen away from his parents. He resisted the irrationality of an apology and offered them something else instead.

"We all know how strong Nick is. He'll see this through," Grissom whispered hollowly and clasped Mrs. Stokes' hand briefly before catching Catherine's eye. "Catherine I'm tired," he said truthfully and then eyed Nick's parents awkwardly. "Will you walk me back to my room?" he asked with a pointed look.

It took Catherine only a moment to receive his silent message. "Oh, yeah, sure," she stuttered clumsily. "I'll be right back," she offered to Nick's parents, and they smiled kindly at her in response.

"We'll be sure to let you know if anything about Nick's condition changes," Judge Stokes replied with an unreadable expression on his face. As Grissom passed him on his way out of the waiting room, Nick's father stopped him and offered out his hand. Grissom took it and the two men shook hands. "Thanks for finding my boy again," Judge Stokes murmured in a surprisingly broken voice.

Grissom was beyond words as he left the room.

888

Catherine started her report with no prompting from Grissom as soon as they stepped out of the waiting area. He was grateful, because he still found himself affected by Judge Stokes' gesture.

"I don't know how much the doctors have told you," she began. "But Nick's blood is teeming with the by-products of solanine. He's severely dehydrated, and that's compromising the efforts to get his cellular respiration back on track. He'll need to be intubated for a few days until they can completely clear his system and normal functioning of his cytochromes return." 

Grissom nodded. The doctors had explained this to him before they had allowed him to visit with Nick. "But he's expected to live," he stated while forcing himself to ignore the fact that the doctor's were struggling at this very moment to restore Nick's cardiac functions to something resembling normal.

"Yes, or at least he was up until this latest event," Catherine said and clenched her fists. Grissom recognized that she was scared, and suddenly his assertion that Nick would live seemed wholly optimistic. But he couldn't afford to think pessimistically right now, and neither could she.

"Catherine, we're lucky that she chose to use plant derivatives for her source of cyanide. They work slower than gaseous forms of the poison, and despite the dehydration and the presence of the other drugs we got to Nick in time. If he makes it through the next 48 hours, the doctors expect him to survive." Grissom purposefully neglected to mention any of the further complications that Nick would most likely have to deal with even if he recovered from the initial poisoning, but he could tell by the narrowing of Catherine's eyes that she was well aware of the dangers yet to be faced.

She opened her mouth as if to say as much, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she decided to focus on the hallucinogen that had been found in Nick's blood samples.

"Yeah, about that third drug," Catherine said, and Grissom watched as she pushed her fear away from the foreground of her thoughts. "It's actually LSD, but we haven't been able to ascertain its source yet," her voice sounded stronger, and Grissom was relieved. He was unaccustomed to seeing her so shaken.

"It's probably another plant derivative. If Kelly is unwilling to tell us what she used, we'll have to have someone run a catalog of hallucinogenic plants and compare them to the species in her garden."

Catherine suddenly turned to face him, and he saw shock in her eyes.

"I thought you knew," she said incredulously and then seemed to be at a loss for words.

"Knew what?" he prompted.

"Kelly Gordon poisoned herself with a massive dose of cyanide," she recounted bluntly. "She died on the scene, and Doc finished the autopsy a few hours ago."

Grissom felt a series of complex emotions surge through him at her statement, and he was momentarily taken aback as he identified how he felt about the unexpected news. Although it was a relief to know that the woman would no longer be haunting them, at least with her physical presence, he couldn't help but feel that they had all been slighted by her easy exit from the macabre events that she had precipitated. Desiring retribution was an emotional outcome that was unfamiliar to Grissom, and he pushed his thoughts aside for a later time so that he could now concentrate on what Catherine was saying.

"C.O.D. was cyanide poisoning, and there were no additional significant findings other than…." Catherine faltered but attempted to continue when Grissom looked sharply at her. "Gri…Grissom," she stammered as she seriously considered the implications of the report that had been given to her by Warrick over the phone. "Gil, there was evidence that she had been sexually active within the past 24 hours," she said while staring sadly at the floor.

Caught up in surprise, Grissom suddenly stopped walking. "What?" he asked unbelievingly.

Anger welled up in Catherine despite her best efforts to quell the emotion. "They found semen, Grissom. All over her, inside and out," her voice was a furious rasp.

Grissom took an urgent step toward her and extended his hand in an attempt to calm her. She saw how his hand suddenly began shaking as it stretched out to her, and she moved out of his reach. "Catherine…."

Being privy to information that Nick had given only to her while working a case together so long ago, Catherine knew that there were no words that could comfort her. She refused to acknowledge Grissom's efforts and interrupted any further consolation by continuing her report in a strained voice.

"Greg is running the DNA," she stated through clenched teeth. "He refuses to leave the job to anyone else, and he should be calling me with the results any minute now. Warrick and Sara were still working the scene when they checked in a couple of hours ago. Warrick told me that the whole upstairs is a treasure trove of evidence. It's going to take a while to process it all, but it's pretty obvious that Kelly Gordon had planned this for quite some time. She was obsessed with Nick. Had photographs of him plastered all over the walls of one of the rooms."

Grissom nodded. "I saw an entire laboratory in the room where we found Nick," he added as they both proceeded on their trek back to his room. Grissom suddenly wanted to turn around and return to the family room to wait there for news of Nick's condition. Getting Catherine to walk him back to his room had only been a ruse to get her alone in the first place. Now that they had shared information, he felt like he belonged in the waiting room so that he could learn of Nick's condition as soon as the doctors knew anything. He was about to suggest to Catherine that they turn around, when she spoke with surprising acrimony tinting her voice.

"She was insane," Catherine said bitterly. "I don't need to see all of the evidence to know…."

She was interrupted when her cell phone rang. She hastily grabbed it out of her purse and frowned when she saw the number displayed by caller identification. Sending a quick, anxious glance to Grissom, she popped open the phone and brought it to her ear.

"What do you have, Greg?" she asked shakily. Grissom studied her as she listened intently to the voice on the other side of the phone and was not happy with what he saw. Her jaw tensed as she paled considerably, and he saw her working too hard to maintain her composure. She nodded once and ran a shaky hand roughly through her hair.

"Okay, Greg. I'll talk to you later," she finally said and then snapped the phone shut. Tears leaked slowly from her eyes, and she wiped at them furiously. "It was Nick's DNA," she announced plainly. Grissom almost didn't catch her words, because the heavy pounding of his own heart seemed to be roaring in his ears.

"Catherine…." He said in a weak effort to again offer her some comfort.

She stalked away from him in a fury of scarlet and salty tears.

888

In Kelly Gordon's house, Warrick Brown opened the top drawer of a dresser that stood innocuously in the corner of the stuffy bedroom he had volunteered to process. He shuffled through a startling array of socks and found a leather-bound journal. Lifting the journal with interest from its spot within the soft confines, he almost missed what lay beneath.

When he saw them, the journal dropped from out of his suddenly numb fingers.

As he reached into the drawer and drew out the photographs, sensation returned in a flood to his digits.

They burned.


	12. Chapter 11

**Enjoy…..**

**:) Emrys**

Daddy's Little Girl – Chapter 11 

"…all right now. She's gone, and no one is going to hurt you again."

Nick heard the voice that he vaguely identified as being clogged with tears but was unable to interpret the reason for the emotion behind the sound. Neither was he able to make sense of its garbled message. All he could understand was that a voice was speaking to him, and it sounded sad and perhaps a little bit desperate.

"C'mon Sara, we should go. We have a lot of work to do, and it could still be a while before he comes around." It was another voice, different from the first, but sounding just as sad.

"I know, Greg. It's just that…. Well, they said that…." The first voice thickened even further and faltered. "He just needs to wake up soon," it finally said. He heard the deeper intensity of some indecipherable emotion echoing there now.

"I know Sara, but we should…." Any chance of deducing even a vague amount of information from the second voice fled when he felt the light and sudden touch of something on his arm. He gasped in the throes of a frenzied yet failed attempt to break away from the contact, and something in the center of him hammered too hard. Panic overwhelmed him, and he was powerless to escape from it.

"You both need to leave, now," the authority that resonated in this new, third voice bled away as his inadequate awareness clouded over once more.

888

When consciousness blessed him the second time, he was able to reach up and move the confining thing from his face. After it was gone; however, he felt an unhealthy heaviness in his chest that frightened him. He tried to return the hateful thing back to its spot over his nose and mouth but found that he was too weak to do so.

"Leave that on there now, son," the voice was deep and it twanged with familiarity. Nick slowly opened his eyes as he felt what he now recognized to be an oxygen mask being readjusted by helpful hands.

Panic skittered along the edges of his consciousness, but he managed to restrain it. It took a while, but his eyes focused on the strong face of the man who hovered beside him.

"Cisco," he whispered. His subdued voice was muffled even further by the oxygen mask, but apparently his father had heard him.

"Yeah," his father struggled with the simple word, and Nick felt the panic advance closer.

"Mom?" he mouthed as his eyes drifted closed of their own volition.

"Right here," he heard her soothing tones, but surprisingly her voice did nothing other than remind him of another time and place when all of this pain had started.

"If you need me, baby, just have her call me. Just a little phone call and before you know it, I'll be right here," she had assured on that night so long ago when something indefinably awful had happened to him. Had assured him in the same soothing tones she used now.

Nick's eyes shot open at the vague memory of a son's implicit love for his mother betrayed. He searched her face closely for only a moment, before allowing himself to succumb to the now comforting enfold of unconsciousness.

As he threw off awareness, he did not see his mother's shattered reaction to the resentment she inexplicably saw in her son's single, intent stare.

888

Warrick's tall frame was folded awkwardly in the hard chair that someone had managed to scrounge up and leave near Nick's bedside. His body language bespoke of defeat as he slouched and stared at his friend who looked uncharacteristically frail and helpless lying unconscious in the hospital bed.

Nick's arm had been twitching relentlessly since the tall CSI had first entered the room, and the continued presence of the spasm was feeding the seething fires of Warrick's anger. The palsied movement was a result of the cyanide poisoning, a side effect that could be indicative of nerve damage. Nerve damage. Another blow to add to the list of imbalanced occurrences that was the life of Nick Stokes.

Warrick wiped away the sweat that had unaccountably formed on his face and stared down at the folder he held tightly in one fist. He loosened his grip when he realized that the photographs inside were being crumpled and diverted his gaze from their presence. The pictures had not been bagged for evidence. He had been unwilling to become a participant in Kelly Gordon's sick game by bringing the photos back to the lab for all of Nick's co-workers to see. Kelly Gordon was dead, so what good would come from adding to Nick's violation?

A wave of nausea twisted Warrick's stomach when he considered the sum total of the violations Nick had been forced to experience. He mentally turned away from such thoughts and instead willed Nick to wake up. The man had been in and out of consciousness for three days, but Warrick had not been present for any of these short periods when Nick had been peripherally aware of his surroundings. He needed to see Nick's eyes open and aware, if only for a few seconds. He just required enough time to make sure that there was no remnant of horror in Nick's conscious expression. Just needed to make sure that the scared and lost look that telegraphed from the face of every photograph he had found in that upstairs bedroom dresser had disappeared.

But Nick's eyes remained stubbornly closed, and Warrick's impotent anger simmered dangerously when he finally left the hospital room.

888

"Brass wanted me to tell you that he'll be by later to visit. He's still trying to buffer everyone from the press."

Grissom's voice continued the tale of Jim Brass' heroics, but Nick could barely concentrate on the words.

He was not doing well.

He was becoming more accustomed to being awake on the odd occasion but still relished the numbness that he could only find in unconsciousness. He was unaware of time passing and could not concentrate for any length of time. His lack of concentration was most evident when, despite being told several times over that Kelly Gordon was dead, he could not maintain the belief that he was safe. Every touch sent panic through him, and the medical personnel had resorted to monitoring and moving him only when he was deeply unconscious. Thankfully, he was unconscious more often than not.

"Nick, I know it's hard, but you need to start talking to someone," Grissom's voice had changed tones while Nick had been off in his reverie. It was now patient and reasonable and directed totally towards Nick.

He refused to acknowledge Grissom's words or presence. Still too weak to walk away from the other man's voice, he instead stared wistfully at the door. He was tired, and weak. His body felt strange and broken, and he didn't want to belong to it anymore.

He was scared all of the time.

He remained half-convinced that he was dead and all of this awareness was a strange, cosmic practical joke.

He couldn't find it in himself to laugh at the prank.

"Nick! Damn it, Nick!" Grissom's voice had quickly lost all semblance of patience, and Nick had the sudden insight that Gil was stretched far past his breaking point. The stirring of concern reached him but was suddenly quenched by a swell of panic. Nick heard the heart monitor increase its tempo and closed his eyes against the dizziness that assailed him.

"Nick, please, look at me," Grissom begged. "Nicky, we can help you through this if you just let us. Let us help you manage the panic, like we did before." Nick heard the concern in Grissom's voice and knew what would inevitably come next.

Don't touch me! He wanted to scream it, but all that came out of his mouth was a raspy cough.

Grissom reached for him, and he felt his heart stutter in fear. At the interrupted sound of the heart monitor, Grissom seemed to understand what he had been about to do and hastily pulled his hand away.

"Nick, calm down," the patient tone was back. "Nicky, you need to calm down. You're all right. No one is going to hurt you. She's dead. Do you remember? She won't ever hurt you again."

I'm the one who's dead; Nick remembered and was oddly comforted by that thought. He became aware of a sudden tightness in his chest and was almost relieved when the edges of his world began to gray.

The last thing he heard was Grissom calling for the nurse.

888

Grissom was still there when his eyelids weakly opened. Nick felt as if he was floating on the periphery of reality and hoped that meant his whole nightmare would be over soon.

"You're okay, Nick. They just gave you something to relax you," Grissom looked worried, and Nick couldn't help but notice the surreptitious glances Gil kept giving the heart monitor.

He managed a weak nod to indicate his understanding and watched Gil from what seemed like a long distance away. Sadness unexpectedly welled up through him as he considered how detached and lonely he felt. Tears flowed freely down his face, and he was too weak to quell them or to even lift a hand to wipe them away.

"Nick, please. Tell me what I can do. I just want to help," Grissom voice was quiet, but it maintained a pleading edge that made Nick's tears fall faster.

"Cath…Catherine," Nick struggled to rasp out the name. He felt powerless and wrung out. "Let me…talk…Catherine," by the end of the request, his voice had vanished. Not wanting to make any further requests for fear that they would firmly establish his living presence, Nick turned his head away from Grissom's direction and closed his eyes.

888

She had sat by Nick's bedside for hours on end when he had first been brought in to the hospital. But he had never been conscious during her visit. Feeling a loss at having to leave him while he still slumbered on, she nevertheless had regretted departing despite the awful sounds and antiseptic smells that punctuated the otherwise quiet of the room. But her duties to her daughter had drawn her away, and she knew that Nick would understand despite his infirmity.

But when Grissom had asked her to sit with Nick until he regained consciousness again, had even offered to look after Lindsey himself, Catherine had become resolute in the undertaking of staying nearby Nick until he woke up. Grissom's request had been asked with tight words colored by an alarming anxiousness. His emotional appeal could not be denied, and knowing that Nick had specifically asked for her gave her more reason to sit in the uncomfortable chair and wait.

While she waited, Catherine studied Nick's sleeping face and, when he flinched, wondered whether he would wake up soon. She wanted to speak with him again, but she was frightened about what she would say to him. She was terrified of what he would say to her. She knew why Nick had asked for her, knew what this was all about. Nick had once trusted her above all others with a secret, and because of that he needed her to acknowledge the related pain he now was in.

She thought about the grief that had been in his eyes on the day he had first told his secret to another human being. Thought about the sadness and the residual fear that had emanated from him as he told the story of a small boy who had been mishandled and yet had been strong enough to survive his maltreatment. A small boy who had, in fact, grown up to become one of the strongest men she had ever known. But the day he had demonstrated that strength to her by telling her his story had been years ago, before another lifetime's worth of pain had been added on. She wondered how strong he was. She feared that he might have reached the end of his resources.

She caught sight of him struggling to open his eyes and eagerly leaned forward to show herself to him. But when she saw his conscious face, she drew back and gasped in surprise at what she witnessed there. He didn't even look the same; he wasn't Nick anymore. He was a broken stranger who trembled with fear and self-loathing, and her heart cried out for him.

He mouthed words that she could barely hear through the concealing veil of his oxygen mask.

"Catherine…."

Stubbornly determined to be supportive of him, she quickly recovered from her initial shock.

"Yeah, Nick. I'm here," she replied with a shaky smile.

"Catherine…do you know what she did?"

She nodded while maintaining her fiercely protective gaze on him.

"Do you know…know what it means?"

Again she nodded, but this time she was forced to break her gaze in order to wipe away the tears that lingered within the boundaries of her eyes.

"Catherine, I can't…I can't do this anymore," he said and closed his eyes against the force of her sadness.

She grabbed his hand without thinking of the consequences her touch may have. She gripped it tightly and felt the slight shudder of a tremble beneath her grasp.

She held on.

And he let her.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry. That's all I can say. Sorry for the delay. Sorry, sorry, sorry! Anything else I add is just going to sound like an excuse. So…sorry!**

**Emrys (who really is sorry!)**

Daddy's Little Girl – Part 13

Two days later, Nick was still ensconced in his hospital bed fighting residual weakness and an array of side effects. It had been difficult for Grissom to ignore the muscle spasms in Nick's arms that continuously plagued the man, but he had remained hopeful that the cardiac complications that Nick had previously experienced would resolve.

Those hopes were dashed after Gil spent a half an hour interrogating Nick's physician. Apparently certain aspects of Nick's EEG were not resolving, and the changes were indicative of permanent damage to the young man's heart. Tests had been planned to determine the extent of the damage, and all Grissom was able to do was helplessly hope that the impairment was minimal.

His thoughts spinning madly, Grissom walked to Nick's room with negligible consideration of his environment. It had been bad enough when the only certain negative outcome to Nick's bad experience had been psychological in nature. In fact, Grissom had nothing but desperate hope that Nick could recover his emotional stability after these latest horrific events fused with the previous ones that resided in his psyche. And now it seemed likely that there would be negative physical outcomes for Nick as well.

As he neared Nick's room, Grissom was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of a loud sob. Nick's mother quickly rushed by him, and despite her hurry it took only a moment for Grissom to observe the grief that painted Mrs. Stokes' face. Gil made a move to follow her, but his motions were stalled by the appearance of Judge Stokes. The man's imposing countenance managed to express both rage and anguish simultaneously, and Grissom was struck dumb with worry and astonishment as Nick's father hurriedly followed his wife down the corridor.

Unsettled by the events, Grissom hastened to Nick's doorway to determine the sick man's condition. Nick's eyes were firmly closed, and he lay on his side facing the door. At first glance, Nick appeared to be sleeping, but his quickened breathing convinced Grissom that the ill man was anything but asleep.

"Nick?" he called. He hadn't expected an answer, but he had needed to make the attempt anyway.

Nick's only responses were to tightly curl his body into itself and to pull a twitching hand over his eyes in a gesture that made it perfectly clear that he was unwilling to talk.

"Nicky, tell me what happened," Grissom insisted.

A tense moment passed before Grissom interceded again.

"Nicky, what happened?" he asked softly but adamantly.

Seeming to understand that Grissom was unwilling to leave without some kind of reaction, Nick finally responded.

"Don't make me. Please. I just want to be left alone," Nick's faint voice echoed loudly with despair.

"I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to, Nick. I'm just worried about you, that's all," Grissom said patiently. He studied Nick carefully and for the first time noticed how thin the man was getting. "You need to eat something," Grissom said impulsively.

Nick laughed bitterly at the non sequitur and pulled the hand away from his eyes to look at Grissom for the first time this visit.

"For some reason I haven't had much of an appetite lately," he murmured acidly.

"Nevertheless, you should try," Grissom maintained his patient tone. "Your doctor mentioned to me that he's worried about your weight loss. It could cause further complications."

"Just one more to add to the growing list," Nick muttered and unconsciously moved the hand that had covered his face to his chest. The hand clenched into a fist so tight that Grissom saw its knuckles whiten painfully.

"Nick, I've talked to the doctors," Grissom said as he advanced further into the room. "The heart effects may be minor and could resolve themselves with time."

Nick's face suddenly flushed with shock, and he flashed an unguarded expression at Grissom. In it, Gil had a moment to observe all of the anguish and doubt that Nick was experiencing, and his own heart lurched dismally at the sight of it.

"You don't believe that anymore than the doctors do. I wouldn't have expected you to be capable of false optimism, Grissom. Don't placate me, just leave me alone." With those words said, Nick weakly turned his body away from Grissom.

"Nick," Grissom made an attempt to insist for attention, but the sight of Nick's shaking back pulled the fight from him. "I'm sorry, Nicky," Grissom breathed. He moved into the direction of the entrance and had opened the door to the room when he was called back by a desperate sound from Nick.

"Gris, I'm sorry! Please don't leave!" The words were torn from Nick's throat and Grissom immediately responded to them.

Nick had moved back to face the doorway, and his eyes were desperate as they tracked Grissom's return. Unshed tears reflected the overhead fluorescent lights and added intensity to Nick's sudden remorsefulness.

"I'm sorry. Sorry, Gris. Please don't leave," Nick's voice was reaching a panicked intensity, and Grissom was stunned by the sudden change in the man's mood.

Glancing anxiously at the still present heart monitor, Gil noted the increasing tempo of Nick's cardiac activity. He rushed to the frightened man's side in an attempt to calm him down.

"All right, all right. It's okay," Grissom said soothingly and was shocked when Nick suddenly grabbed his hand and clung to it as if it were a lifeline.

Not missing the significance of Nick's lunge for tactile comfort, Grissom nevertheless focused his efforts on soothing the man verbally. Nick was upset enough, and Gil did not want to trigger a flashback by being overly physical.

A nurse hurried into the room to check on Nick's sudden change in condition, and immediately identified Grissom as the source of her patient's anxiety. But the look of faint displeasure that she threw Grissom quickly softened as she watched Nick's hand tighten its grasp on Grissom's own. Nodding approvingly, she smiled comfortingly down at her patient and used a damp sponge to wipe away the sweat that had suddenly appeared there.

"How're you doing, honey?" she asked Nick. In his current state, Nick seemed unable to respond to the simple question and could only look to Grissom for reassurance. The nurse nodded again and drew the sponge away from Nick's distressed face. "That's okay, honey. You just stay right here with your friend. I'm going to get you something to make you feel better."

Grissom nodded his own approval to her and then turned his attention back to Nick as she left the room.

"Nick, does this have anything to do with your parents?" he asked quietly. "I saw them rush out of here earlier."

Nick's painful groan caught Grissom off guard, and he reached down to clasp his colleague's shoulder with his free hand, only to draw it away when Nick hissed and jumped at the touch.

"Okay, okay, okay," Grissom soothed and held the offending hand up and away from Nick. "I won't do that again," he assured.

Nick just nodded and tried to ease his breathing. Establishing deep, slow breathing was a technique that Nick had been taught by his therapist in the first days after he had been retrieved from being buried by Walter Gordon. Grissom was pleased by Nick's application of the procedure in his current circumstances and took it as a sign that the possibility of Nick's emotional resurgence was not completely lost.

"Nick, what happened?" Grissom asked when his friend was calm enough to hear the words.

"Nothing…nothing makes sense…anymore," Nick gasped. The words seemed to pain him as they were torn out of his throat, but he pressed on anyway. "Everything…I say. Everything….I do. It doesn't….make sense. I can't seem…to do…anything right."

After the outburst of these words, Nick's breath stuttered and the heart monitor shrilled briefly before regaining its fast, but closer to normal tempo again. Grissom ached to clasp the man's shoulder reassuringly, but restrained himself.

"It's going to be okay, Nicky. I promise. We'll help you through this like we did before. It's just going to take some time." The words sounded both meaningless and utterly important at the same time, and Grissom hoped that Nick took them for what they were: a desperate plea to let Nick's friends help him through this awful, emotional toll.

"I feel like…I'm in a maze…Gris. And every turn I take…it's a dead end. I can't…do…anything right."

Grissom opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the scurrying entrance of the nurse. Instead of speaking, Gil grasped Nick's hand tighter in a reassuring squeeze. Soon after the nurse administered a sedative via an IV port, Nick's breathing began to even and his eyes began to blink furiously as he fought the effects.

"Don't fight it, honey," the nurse murmured. She pulled Nick's blanket up around his shoulders, smiled charmingly at him, and then left the room without another word.

"Maze," Nick muttered softly. "Dead ends, ev'rywhere."

Gil leaned in closer to Nick as the man slowly relaxed and gave up the struggle to keep his eyes open.

"We'll get you out, Nicky," Gil whispered into the lost man's ear. "We know the way out."

The words echoed in Nick's head as he succumbed to the comforting effects of the sedative and drifted away.


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: This is for everybetty who kicked my butt in gear this morning! I told you this fic was still up there in my noggin', didn't I, girl? This chapter basically wrote itself, so I'm able to post it within hours of promising you that the next section was coming. _And_ I have the beginnings of Part 15 rumbling around in my head. Ahhh, health. It's a wonderful thing.**

**I also have to thank Nicky69 for keeping me on track. Thanks so much for your encouragement!**

**For those of you out there still wondering about this story…yes, I will finish it. It actually only has a couple of chapters left, and they're pretty much outlined at this point. I have to look over an old, beloved Stargate fic or else I suspect that my other friend, Sokerchick, will completely give up on me, but I hope to post Chapter 15 sometime next week (unless I'm plagued with yet another illness).**

**And those of you wondering about my current SGA fic…you have no worries. Weight of an Oath hasn't given me too much trouble, so I'll still be able to update it regularly…unless, as I mentioned earlier, I'm plagued with yet another illness).**

**Enjoy!**

**Emrys**

From Part 13 (since it's been so long):

"Maze," Nick muttered softly. "Dead ends, ev'rywhere."

Gil leaned in closer to Nick as the man slowly relaxed and gave up the struggle to keep his eyes open.

"We'll get you out, Nicky," Gil whispered into the lost man's ear. "We know the way out."

The words echoed in Nick's head as he succumbed to the comforting effects of the sedative and drifted away.

Daddy's Little Girl – Part 14 

Grissom stayed by Nick's side throughout the night. He knew that sitting in the hard plastic chair that had been placed near the hospital bed for visitors would wreak havoc on his back, but he wanted to think. Needed to think here, while Nick was asleep and where Grissom knew him to be safe.

At some point during the long night, he must have drifted off because he woke to find his neck abominably stiff and a rough blanket covering his legs. Passing a hand across his bleary eyes, he checked Nick and was pleased to see him calm and still asleep. Yawning, he stretched awkwardly and then looked around the small room to find Catherine watching him knowingly from a chair positioned slightly behind his.

"You're becoming a soft touch in your old age, Grissom," she whispered softly.

He scowled in response and then raised his eyebrows. "You?" he asked pulling the blanket upward to indicate its presence.

She shrugged. "You were cute all hunched up in that chair, but you looked sort of cold. Figured you could use it."

He huffed. "Now look who's turning into a soft touch," he said, wryly then eyed her chair. "Hey, your chair looks more comfortable than mine. Where'd you get it?"

"I never reveal my sources," Catherine said. Her voice had only a subdued playfulness to it, and Grissom suddenly missed her true, yet recently absent, lighthearted nature.

Catherine's eyes drifted to Nick, and the concerned look that had haunted her features since this fiasco had started returned. "He's in trouble," she said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Grissom agreed, turning around in his chair so that he could see her better. "There's something he's not telling me, or, I suspect, anyone else. Something important, and none of us are going to be able to help him if he's not willing to talk about it openly."

Catherine suddenly looked uncertain. She opened her mouth as if to say something but then closed it as she took the time to consider her next words carefully. Her hesitation was not missed by Grissom.

"I know what it is," Catherine finally said after some time had passed. "I've known for a while. He and I talked about it the other day, but maybe you…."

"No," Grissom interrupted her quietly, but with authority. "I don't want you to betray his confidence. Besides it won't help unless he's willing to tell me himself. He's just got to start opening up."

She didn't say anything, just quietly nodded and leaned back in her chair. Grissom turned around to study Nick's pale features again and noted the muscle spasms that were still present. He brushed his hand over his face again and felt his eyes burn with fatigue.

"It's late," he said and closed his eyes.

888

The next time he woke up, it was to the sound of a quiet, but imploring muttering. Immediately awake, he stood up, and resisted the temptation to touch Nick in order to wake him from what was obviously becoming a bad nightmare. Instead, he stooped near to Nick's ear and murmured soothing words that did little good.

As the sheets became twisted and restraining around Nick's body, his low begging escalated and so did the words that poured from Grissom's mouth. Grissom was about to call the nurse, when Nick suddenly jolted awake and lay very still. It appeared to Gil that the man was trying to orient himself, to remember where exactly he was, and for a moment, the only sounds in the room were the hurried beat of the heart monitor and Nick's harsh breathing.

"Nick?" Grissom quietly asked once the sounds from the heart monitor had slowed appreciably. He backed away slowly making sure to keep within Nick's line of sight but also making an effort not to startle the already disturbed man.

"Gr…Griss?" The stuttered word was spoken with a hint of confusion, but Grissom was glad Nick had broken far enough away from his nightmare to be able to recognize his surroundings. Gil sighed with heavy relief and sat back down in the backbreaking chair.

"Yeah, it's me, Nick," Grissom said quietly. He paused, knowing that his next question was a stupid, yet necessary one. "Are you all right?"

Nick still would not meet Gil's eyes, and he shook his head negatively. Tears slid down the man's face, and he wiped them angrily away before turning his back on Grissom. Not knowing what to say, Grissom tensely remained seated in the chair. He noted that Catherine had left some time during the night, and that the first muted rays of the morning sun were being cast through the hospital window.

"How can you say that you know the way out, when I don't even know where my head is anymore?" Nick suddenly whispered. His breath hitched painfully, and Grissom's heart ached with the sound. Yet he steeled his features so that none of his inner conflict would be obvious to Nick if he suddenly chose to look his way.

"I know two things," Gil said after a moment's pause to carefully consider his thoughts. He stopped talking again so that his lingering silence would emphasize the importance of his next words. He sensed that Nick was listening despite having turned his back and knew that what he said next could make all of the difference in the man's sorrow-filled world.

"The first," Gil said, "is that you aren't dead."

The effect was immediate and not altogether unexpected. Nick gasped and weakly moved beneath the blankets so that he was able to pierce Grissom with eyes filled with astonishment. It was the first time since they had rescued him that Nick had maintained any level of eye contact with Grissom, and he noted the importance of a milestone painfully met.

Grissom tentatively reached out a hand. When Nick fumbled to clasp the offering of contact, Gil inwardly cheered. Even if he didn't make any further forward progress, at least Nick hadn't lost the ability to accept this small comfort.

"The second, is something Winston Churchill once said," Grissom continued, smiling in affected amusement.

He saw some of the tension leave Nick's face at Gil's characteristic tendency to quote others, and Grissom realized that routine and familiarity would become even more of a necessity for the man than they had been after Nick's first encounter with Kelly Gordon.

"Churchill once said," Gil repeated, "that if you're going through hell, keep going."

Nick pondered the words for a moment, blinking heavily against the still present pull of the sedative that the nurse had administrated earlier. He shifted his legs so that the blankets untwined slightly and then sighed heavily.

"I don't know if I can," Nick said. Grissom saw that he was very close to sleep again.

"You have no choice about it," Grissom instantly and steadfastly replied.

Nick's eyes were closed now, but he managed a response anyway. "Didn't you tell me once that there's always a choice?" he murmured.

"I also told you once that there's an exception to everything," Grissom reminded, placating. "Now go to sleep."

Nick slept.


	15. Chapter 14

"Why were you arguing with your mother?" Grissom asked without prelude.

Nick squinted in the morning sunlight that passed through the slats of the hospital window blinds. He was still mostly asleep and processing Grissom's question was difficult.

"Wha?"

"Why were you arguing with your mother?"

Nick woke up a little more and rubbed a trembling hand over his eyes. He cursed softly at the obvious weakness but was relieved to discover that the weight in his chest had eased. The small release from the constant heavy pressure of extreme oxygen deprivation was unexpected and quite a relief.

"What did you say?" he asked again, distracted still by the sunlight and his slightly improved respiration.

"Are you okay, Nicky?" Grissom asked, obviously concerned.

"Tired," Nick whispered, and slid his body down deeper into the inadequate hospital pillows.

"Why were you arguing with your mother?" Grissom asked yet another time, stubbornly.

"My parents, they want me to come home. Mom wants me home," Nick answered. "They say it's different than last time with the…with the box…and the…well, last time. There're complications from the cyanide. They don't think it's practical to have you guys watching out for me."

Grissom watched Nick carefully and noticed that he was breathing heavily when just moments ago his breathing had been smoother and less ragged than it had been since they had found him suffering from the cyanide poisoning.

"Nick, we can work something out. Whatever you need," Grissom said, noting Nick's features slowly transforming to define his growing panic.

"I…I don't know. No place seems safe. I mean I can't…my house is out of the question…and, well, my mom, just, I—"

"Nick, you don't have to make any decisions now. You've got time. The hospital isn't going to release you for a while," Gil said calmly and studied the heart monitor carefully.

"The doctors, they say that with a nurse, well, I'll be able to go home in a few days. I don't…I don't know what to do! Dad wants to leave as soon as possible. He's got work, and…a…a…a..nd Mom, she wants me home. But I can't! I don't…I'm not…sure. I—"

"Okay, okay, Nicky, calm down," Grissom said in a soothing tone. He suddenly wished that he hadn't started this entire conversation. "You need to calm down. Your heart rate is speeding up too much. Settle down a bit."

Nick closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He coughed once, turning onto his side to facilitate the action. Sweat poured from his skin and began to soak the bed linens, and Grissom worried that the man would catch a chill from the excess moisture. He moved to call in a nurse, when Nick rolled back onto his back and started talking again.

"I'm not sure I can stand to go home right now. Not after she…not after what happened."

Grissom was confused, unsure of whether Nick was talking about Kelly or his mother.

"Nick—"

Whatever Grissom was about to say was lost in the conviction of Catherine's voice as she confidently entered the room.

"Nicky, you need to go home with your folks. You need to be with them right now. Especially your mother."

888

When Catherine leaned over and took a closer look at Nick, she saw that he was upset and uncertain. She didn't blame him, because she knew practically everything that was running through his head. She also knew what had happened to him when he had been a lonely child left alone with a monster, and she knew what happened to him later as an adult left alone with lingering fears and another kind of monster.

She leaned closer and let Nick see the knowledge that burned behind her eyes; the knowledge that hurt her to carry, but which was a burden that she willingly bore for her friend.

"Nick, you should be with them," she said, insistently.

He stared at her with abject fear, and it was then that she noticed the sound of the heart monitor as it rapidly became agitated. She gently took his hand and rubbed a thumb over his knuckles, and the sound of his heart rate eased off just a bit.

"I know, Nick. I know why you're scared. _I know_. But your mother doesn't," she said, toughly but soothingly at the same time.

"I'm not…I don't…Catherine, it's not that easy," Nick whispered, obviously hoping to hide all of his secrets from Grissom who was still in the room but trying to stay out of earshot.

"It's as easy as this," Catherine responded, reasonably. "She's your mother. She wants to help you, protect you, see you well. What happened when you were a child was a mistake. An awful, horrifying mistake, but unfortunately parents are human and make them all the time. Believe me, I know."

Nick managed to maintain eye contact with her for just a little while, but she knew that it was enough for him to see that she was speaking the truth.

"Catherine, I can't do all of this at once. It's too…it's too much."

Catherine turned away from him for a moment and silently sought answers from Grissom. He shrugged, not quite sure what she was looking for. She sighed heavily and then turned her shrewd gaze back to Nick.

"Nicky, you don't have a choice. You have to do this. What are you going to do if you don't? Hide away from everyone who cares about you? Are you going to cut yourself off from life? It doesn't work that way. Kelly Gordon's dead, not you! And if you don't believe me, I'll take you to the gravesite as soon as we spring you out of this place."

Nick gasped, and his gaze rapidly oscillated between Catherine and Grissom. Knowing that she had said something that was significant to the two of them, but unsure what exactly it was, she caught sight of Gil as he shrugged and smiled expressively.

"Told you, Nick. You're among the living, no matter how much you might want to deny it," Grissom said, deliberately.

The words seemed to break something inside of Nick, and he turned his face from both of them. He swiped an unsteady hand under his eyes to wipe away tears, but then nodded with what could almost be determination.

"Yeah. Okay. I'll try," he whispered. His voice hitched on the last word, and he struggled to twist his entire body on its side and away from them. When he was done moving around, he laid there gasping for breath. Catherine muttered some meaningless words and gently swept her fingers through his hair.

"It's all we're asking for," she said to him quietly and brushed a gentle kiss against his temple.


	16. Epilogue

Nick stepped out of the taxi and studied the structure in front of him with emotion bordering on both nostalgia and trepidation. He ignored the conflict for a moment to turn back and say good-bye to his mother. There was a certain level of peace in her eyes, but also uncertainty and fear. Over the past months, forgiveness had been offered to her by the man, her son, who leaned down over the taxi with a hard look in his eyes. He was scared, she knew, because she had seen that stony look in his eyes many times over the past months and had re-learned and remembered enough about her son to recognize his fear when she saw it.

She grabbed the hand that grasped weakly at the car door. If he had gained more strength in the limb during his time away with her, she was sure that he would be gripping the door now for all his worth. Like a life-line. Suddenly she was very frightened, and she felt tears pushing their way up her throat. She shoved them down, just barely, because she wasn't a woman of tears.

She was about to say something encouraging, when her husband intervened instead.

"You can stay, if you'd like, Nick. You don't have to do this now. It's so soon. We can go back." It was the first sign of uncertainty that her husband had shown since the entire nightmare with the Kelly Gordan woman started.

Nick shook his head slowly and didn't seem ready to trust his voice yet. Mrs. Stokes tightened her grip on the hand that she held.

"You call us if you need anything, you hear? Anything at all," she said. The tears made an insistent move back up to clog her throat, and to her horror a few escaped and slipped down her face.

Nick smiled and lifted his weak hand from her grasp to gently brush the moisture from her face.

"It's going to be fine, Mama," he said. It was the same reasonable voice he used to use when he was a small child and something, _anything_, had gone wrong in the house causing her to momentary lose her fragile tolerance for domestic life. The tears threatened to fall again, but she gained control and instead forced a smile that matched the unsteady one on her son's face.

"I know," she said and took hold of his hand again. She kissed it.

And then there were word and formalities and more words to her husband. But she didn't entirely hear them, because her moment with her son still filled her and distracted her from what was going on around her. But when the taxi started to pull away from the curb, she heard herself make a desperate, strangled sound, and she came back to the reality of her leave-taking.

She turned to the window, turned to her son and said the necessary words.

"I love you, Nick."

"I love you too, Mom."

And the glory of that response had never been stronger than it was right then.

888

Nick stood in front of his own house. His home. He breathed roughly, felt sweat break out on his brow. He was scared but knew that he had to do this. He had to open the door and go in to return to his life, the life that he had fashioned for himself and which he loved.

_Kelly is dead_, he reminded himself. _And I'm alive._

Nothing else was important except for those two thoughts—and for the fact that Grissom was in his house, waiting for him so that he wouldn't be alone. He hadn't been alone for quite some time, and he didn't think he could bear solitude yet. He wasn't ready for it. So his friends, his chosen family, had obliged by planning on keeping him company. He was going to have a mob of house-guests for as long as he wanted them.

There was no denying that he was nervous. Scared. But he had to do this, wanted to do this part on his own. He had asked Grissom to wait in the house and had told his parents to leave. This was the part that was hard. This was the part where he had to wrap his head around some changes and see who he had really become.

He slowly walked to stand on his own lawn, and he closed his eyes and listened. The neighborhood was quiet for a Saturday morning. The generalized sounds of traffic were cut through by the pleasant chatter of birds and the occasional delighted scream of children. There was nothing threatening, and it was all very…normal.

His hand trembled as it reached for the doorknob, and he didn't know if it was due to the still lingering effects of the cyanide or to his fear. He was beginning to believe it was caused by a little of both when his heart rate ratcheted up, and new-formed sweat caused the light fabric of his shirt to stick to his back. He stepped away from the front door, closed his eyes again, and tried to re-gain control.

Nearby laughter gently rose up from one of the neighbors' houses, and he allowed himself to be distracted by it. The little Hanson girl saw him and waved enthusiastically. She was missing one of her front teeth; he saw its absence when she smiled broadly at him. His shoulders relaxed and he found himself smiling back to the little girl with the skinned knees and the missing tooth. He waved shakily back to her, and she seemed embarrassed. She gasped and covered her face with her hands. But she quickly regained her child's lack of self-consciousness, and her smile eventually returned for him.

He chuckled, just a little bit, waved again, and entered his home.

FIN

**A/N: I feel the need to say that I recognize that this story did not linger over Nick's recovery, and I acknowledge that some of you may be disappointed or thinking that the lack of specifics stems from a desire to get the story finished quickly after staying away from it for so long. However, I want to assure you that I had never intended on getting into the details of Nick's return back to his life…not even during the naissance of the story way back when. I'm happy with this ending, and, to say the least relieved to give Nicky a little peace.**

**I can't thank enough, all of you who have stuck by me with this dang fic! I should definitely say that if it hadn't been for _everybetty_, this story would have been buried along the wayside! Kristen999, thanks to you as well! And also, _kimonkey_, if you're reading this, know that lots of love goes out to you!!**

**Thanks again---**

**Emrys**


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